Mourner's Dawn
by Cyprith
Summary: Without him, they’d be nothing. Without them, he would still be alive. They should have known better. Lucien does not pick his silencers idly. Generally lighthearted slash. Lucien LachanceOC
1. Chapter One

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I don't own Elder Scrolls.

Summary: Without him, they'd be nothing. Without them, he would still be alive. They should have known better. Lucien does not pick his silencers idly.

Author's Note: When you open up the cheat console, press on a dead character and type **resurrect**, they… well… _resurrect_. What if that cheat was really a spell, a rare ability to call spirits back to their own body? Resurrection without necromancy, as it were.

What if it worked on Lucien?

Dialogue will not be the same for two reasons. One, copying from the game is boring. And two, I don't remember most of it. XD

* * *

Mourner's Dawn

* * *

Sam stopped short upon entering the cabin, the burlap sack dropping from his hand.

_Lucien_…

He didn't see the head roll out across the floor, to bump fleshy, rotting lips with Bellamont's shoe. Just at that moment, he saw only the ravaged corpse hanging from the ceiling, battered past recognition.

_Nearly. _

He should have been angry, furious. Should have raged against them, threw down the head and journal as proof. Should have ordered a Purification of his own. They already thought him mad, eccentric. Lucien had controlled him.

Only Lucien. And Lucien was dead.

He could kill them. All of them. After all, he'd killed the others. Couldn't he manage this as well?

r_evenge revenge revenge revenge_

The never-ending litany poured through every crevice of his being. And then the rage began to bubble, slowly, quietly in the center of his being. His face changed ever so slightly, a dangerous glint in the eyes, features just a little more like stone.

Only Lucien would have noticed. And Lucien was dead.

_Revenge!_

"You don't need to worry, you know," Arquen chatted on cheerfully. "Everyone knows you were simply following orders, and the real traitor's already been dealt with."

_You have no idea what you've done._

"As you were the traitor's Silencer, it only makes sense for you to take his place."

_You lot can't be that strong. Took all of you to kill Lucien. He'll have weakened you. I could do it… I could do it._

"We go now to ask the Night Mother for guidance in this dark time. Once there, she will promote one of us to Listener as…" and here she grew uncomfortable, "as Ungolim lays dead by the traitor's command."

_It wouldn't take much to drop you. You're exhausted. It's there in the slump of your shoulders. As for your boys… Lightning. I can drop a daedra at fifty yards, I can kill them._

"Return here at dark and we'll travel together to the Dark Mother's lair."

_I can salvage this, Lucien. I can save you._

"Sam?" She leaned down to put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

He jerked away at the touch, glaring.

"Don't _touch_ me."

But the woman only laughed and pulled away.

"Oh, you're every bit Lucien's toy, aren't you? Just like him… only shorter."

_Look down at me much more and I'll stab you through the gut. I'm sure Sithis won't grieve much._

He realized his silence wasn't helping matters. Not that speaking his mind would earn their praise. He was walking a thin line, having served a _traitor_. It was possible to be tainted, wasn't it? He could have known everything. He could have killed them for love…

"You needn't grieve for him, you know," she added softly. "He wasn't worth your loyalty."

Sam clenched his hands behind his back. He couldn't start a fight here. His magic was wild, and Lucien was already damaged enough.

"Perhaps." His voice was choked, rough. "But I don't believe it."

"The proof is there," she said, shocked that anyone could doubt it. "What's not to believe?" And then it sunk in some. "Oh, I see. You were _close," _she pronounced the word carefully, with no small measure of pity. "I assure you, Sam, there is no way he could be innocent."

"Innocent?" Sam snorted. "Innocence is relative."

"I… suppose that's one way of looking at it."

Angrily, he swiped a hand through sweat streaked red hair and turned to look up at her.

"At least let me take him down."

"No." It was Bellamont now, vaguely distracted as he picked his way past the rotten head. "He deserves to hang there and rot."

"_Control yourself, Samwane." _Lucien's voice hissed in his ear. "_Easy now. It's not as though I'm going anywhere, am I?"_

"He was my Speaker."

"_And that, my pet, is my traitor. See the way Bellamont watches the head you've so kindly provided? Even if the reason why eludes me."_

"No, Mathieu is right." The second man, one whose name he didn't know. "Traitors deserve no kindness in life _or_ death."

And then, without warning, he keeled over as if punched in the gut. The pain apparently refused to lessen, as he staggered outside soon after, the sound of his retching drifting into the house.

"_I'd do more_," the feeling of cold fingers across the back of his neck. "_But they've tired me out."_

Slowly, Sam smiled. He wasn't losing his mind. He couldn't be. Lachance simply knew him well enough not to leave just yet. Or perhaps he only wanted revenge. Either way…

* * *

Sam barely came up to Lucien's shoulder when he was alive and well— the curse of a Bosmer. Now, with him hanging a good three feet above the ground, there was no way he was going to reach the rope that bound him.

Leaping up on the nearby dresser, he was just able to loosen it, slowly lowering his mentor to the ground.

Laughter then, barely heard, a silver whisper on the wind.

"_How refreshing. You couldn't possibly damage me any more and yet you still show such _reverence_! I knew my trust in you was well placed." _

Sam clenched his teeth against the rage and depression that had wedged itself beneath his breastbone. Carefully, he lifted the corpse from the ground and settled it into the old woman's bed. Lucien was a mess. It'd take days to fix all this.

"He's a work of art, really." Bellamont murmured, coming to stand beside him. "The cuts and gouges add something to the mystique of it all, if you ask me."

"I'm going to give you ten seconds," Sam growled. "And if you aren't across the room by then, I'm going to throw that head of yours into the fire."

"Head? What… what head? Mine? Well, that's certainly an odd threat."

"Your mother's head, fetcher. _Move_."

"My... mother? I don't... Yes, well… alright then."

He stood there, leaned over the corpse, waiting to hear Mathieu's footsteps fade to the opposite wall. Only then did he begin to pick his way over Lucien's injuries.

The gaping hole where his cheek should be scared him. If he couldn't find the missing pieces…

"_She_ _tried to cut out my tongue. They'd already taken my… more important bits. I was bleeding out, but damned if I'd unclench my teeth."_

Sam felt sick and half mad.

"I need to find your missing peices," he whispered.

"_What good will it do?"_

"I can fix this."

Soft laughter then, and a hand against his face.

"_You're mad."_

"Trust me."

There was silence for a long moment and then, a soft agreement.

"_You can't look now. If they suspect anything, I fear you'll join me. And it's certainly not the cleanest death."_

"They can't kill me."

A rough pressure like a hand seizing the scruff of his neck.

"_Don't get cocky."_

Sam attempted a smile, but it emerged as more a twisted grimace.

_I can fix this. I can fix this. Don't break down in tears, you idiot. This can be mended._

The pressure drifted off and Sam started, alarmed.

"Don't leave."

_"Hush."_ There was an infinite exhaustion in that whispered voice. _"Let me sleep."_

"You don't understand, Lucien." He kept his head down, so they wouldn't see him speaking to the air. "If you sleep, you'll drift—"

"Sam?" Arquen touched a hand to his shoulder, wary to disturb him from his fervent prayer. "It's time."


	2. Chapter Two

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I don't own Elder Scrolls.

Summary: Without him, they'd be nothing. Without them, he would still be alive. They should have known better. Lucien does not pick his silencers idly.

Author's Note: Ah, chapter two. Lovely, eh?

* * *

Mourner's Dawn

Chapter Two

* * *

He was Listener…

Sam wandered around the Cheydinhal sanctuary in a daze. Not a word from Arquen since they'd left the Night Mother. She was silent.

_Silencer…_

Did she feel guilty, he wondered, about having put an innocent man through such torture?

_Silence her…_

No. He doubted it. She was stupid, mindless, making her rank because of gender and slavish obedience.

_Skill. Yours was skill. It was… Lucien. He saw something he liked… Don't you wonder if it wasn't only attraction and your own stupid, slavish obedience?_

"Sam? Are you alright?" He looked up, stirred from his musings.

Vicente was smiling gently, a hand on his shoulder.

Vaguely, Sam wondered if Lucien would be furious the vampire hadn't stayed dead.

"Sam?" He asked again, concern painted in blood shot eyes.

"They killed Lucien." He murmured, letting the taller man lead him over to a chair before pressing a glass of heated wine into his hand.

"I've heard as much." Slowly, he eased down into the chair across from him. His own resurrection had left him sore. "Seeing as how only recently I was dead by his hand, I can't say I pity him overmuch."

Sam clenched his teeth and downed half the wine. It could have been blood for all he tasted it.

"You didn't see what they did to him."

Vicente frowned and cocked his head to the side.

"It wasn't a simple execution?"

"Simple?" He snorted and finished the lot of it in a single gulp. "They _tortured_ him. His corpse is torn to rags."

Slender fingers played over bloodless lips as he eyed Sam warily. But he was more apt to believe this boy, rather than the new interloper who had announced herself mistress of the den.

"Arquen was under the impression Lucien's death had been clean and merciful."

"His blood soaked into the root cellar," Sam said bluntly, looking up.

"Ah…"

Silence reigned for a long moment before Vicente leaned forward to pour the elf another glass.

"I wonder if she wasn't a part of this conspiracy. She has no true cause to lie about Lachance's death. It was a mistake."

"_Her_ mistake." He swept a hand through his hair. "Listener… Gods, I can't do this."

"There's nothing to do." Vicente smiled sadly. "You play courier for the Night Mother now, that's all."

"I could kill her."

"She's already dead."

"_Arquen_," Sam snapped, glaring. "And damned if Sithis would punish me."

"Simply because you've made Listener, does not give you leave to play tyrant."

It was the wrong thing to say. Sam was already close to breaking, torn in a thousand different directions.

"I shouldn't _be_ Listener. Had Ungolim died a week sooner, Lucien would be in my place."

Vicente smiled.

"He told you, did he?"

A short, distracted nod.

"I'm surprised. I've never known him to confide in his Silencers."

"You knew his Silencers?" Sam looked up, slowly. "He told me only members of the Black Hand knew of them."

"My, he had a charmed view of the world, didn't he?" Vicente rose, laughing softly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Only that things don't always work out as planned. I'm over three hundred years old. Do you really think I wouldn't know the inner workings of this guild?"

He watched him, waiting.

"I never questioned it when I was sent to you for orders. Only assumed you were of higher rank. But I never knew _which_ rank." Sam paused, watching the vampire's face carefully. "You were a member of the Black Hand, weren't you?"

"Clever, child. Very clever." Vicente's smile was something tangible now. "Most never stop to think, let alone reach the right conclusion."

"Were you Listener?"

"No." He turned to look at him. "I knew better than to think I could survive such inaction. But I was, for nearly a quarter of a century, a Speaker."

"And then?"

"My disease began to eat away my appearance and so I retired, my Silencer taking my place."

"Lucien."

Uncharacteristically, Vicente grinned, and without another word, left.

* * *

The journey back to Applewatch took an eternity, even with Shadowmare galloping at full tilt. The horse was smarter than he'd first given her credit for. She knew her former master was dead, and in her way, she mourned him.

Maybe he was losing his mind. It was possible, after all. But Sam was almost sure she trusted him to fix it. Imagined confidence, perhaps, but it comforted him.

The little house was locked and deserted. No more assassins come to gawk, no more lagging members of the Black Hand. He was alone in a tiny graveyard.

Slowly, Sam dismounted and left Shadowmere to wander.

The house had begun to reek. Sam did what he could, forcing his spells through what remained of Lucien's body, undoing the rot where he found it. Only with every window and door open, did the smell begin to dissipate. But there was too much blood to really dent the smell of death.

"Lucien?" He turned and closed his eyes, trying to feel for the man's presence.

_"Always so loud. It's a wonder you can sneak at all." _His voice was broken, barely a whisper.

"Com'on, old man," Sam goaded. "Stay awake a little longer. You drift off and there's nothing I can do to help you."

"_If I could see you, boy, I'd beat you." _

Triumphant in his little victory, Sam grinned.

"Opening your eyes might help."

"_Samwane." _A bit of a warning note that Sam couldn't help but press.

"You know, I thought you were stronger than this," he said, grinning because Lucien couldn't see. "To be honest, I can't believe I ever served under a weak old m—"

He flew backwards a few feet, landing hard on his ass. Despite the pain, the spell was comforting in its familiarity. Lucien has always used it whenever he did something incredibly stupid. Apparently, this qualified.

He could almost see him now, the shimmering outline of his shoulders as he towered over him.

"_You ungrateful little wretch! I could…" _There was a pause in which he took in Sam's manic grin. "_Clever, impertinent boy. Go on, then. Get what you came for." _

The thought of the task at hand killed all joy.

"Where are your missing pieces?"

"_They caught me coming back from the woods. I imagine the family jewels will still be in the garden." _All this with a smirk Sam didn't have to see to know of. _"My face found its way into the root cellar, along with a number of smaller appendages."_

Slowly, feeling somewhat stuck in a cloud, Sam pulled a smaller bag from his pack and made his way to the cellar, picking through the puddles of blood and hair for the bits of flesh, then out to the garden, a mental inventory of everything Lucien had lost running through his head.

"Is this all?" He asked, holding out the bag.

But Lucien only laughed, and it was obvious he was drifting back into sleep.

"_I don't know, pet. To be honest, I find I can't bring myself to care overmuch."_

"You're _life_ is on the line."

"_I've always believed the dead stay dead. Do as you like."_

"Lucien," he snapped, looking at where he estimated the source of the voice to be. "I'm not about to leave you be, you understand."

Laughter again, but achingly far away. And when he spoke, it was a whisper so low Sam couldn't make heads or tails of it.

But he thought… hoped it was something along the lines of, "_Sometimes I wonder if I'd find you quite so intriguing, if you weren't so damned _irritating_."_


	3. Chapter Three

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I don't own Elder Scrolls.

Summary: Without him, they'd be nothing. Without them, he would still be alive. They should have known better. Lucien does not pick his silencers idly.

* * *

Mourner's Dawn

Chapter Three

* * *

Arquen was _not pleased_ to see her new Listener struggling down the ladder with a hideously familiar corpse in his arms.

"Forgive me, dearest Listener," she started, striding forward. "But if I may ask, what are you doing?"

Sam glared at her, and thrust the blood soaked canvas bag at her.

"Hold this."

Warily, she took it, and watched as he maneuvered Lachance down onto the floor before springing up to shut the well gate. Inside the bag, she found an odd assortment of Lucien's missing bits, all of it stewing together in a festering sort of ooze so that the bottom of the bag was leaking through.

"What exactly are you planning on doing with this?"

"Fixing _your_ mistake." He took back his bag and heaved Lucien up from the ground, wishing he was taller, his shoulders a little broader.

"Listener…" she said and paused, chewing her lip, wondering how to put it delicately. "He's past repair. You honestly can't expect to… to reanimate him."

A vicious smile and Sam lumbered past, wishing Lachance was just a little more wieldy.

"That is exactly what I expect."

"But Necromancy is strictly forbidden!"

"It's not necromancy." He stopped then, turning to look at her. "And even if, by some mistake, he does return as a zombie, damned if I'll stop him from killing _you_."

She was shocked past speech, and so stood there under the ladder, watching as he made his way to Ocheeva's old room.

"Listener?" A girl with too-dark eyes popped around the corner. "May… may I help you?"

Sam jerked his head toward the door, wondering when the hell all these recruits had wandered in.

"Open that for me."

She obeyed and stopped dead, really seeing the bundle in his arms for the first time.

"Oh, poor Lachance. I guess it really was true." She startled then, backing away, hands held before her. "Forgive me. I… It's none of my business."

"True? What are you talking about?"

The girl blanched.

"They… they say Arquen feasted on his entrails. I wasn't sure what to believe, but seeing him like this…" She glanced up, obviously nervous. "Please, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to anger you. Please don't hurt me."

He realized he was clenching his teeth and eased up slightly, the words _feasted on his entrails _still ringing through his ears. Vicente intervened then, shooing the recruit off and herding Sam into the room.

"You must do _nothing_." He snapped, as soon as the door was locked. "If you kill her, the repercussions—"

"I don't give a damn about the repercussions!" Sam grit his teeth and settled Lucien down onto the bed. "I'm going to _tear her apart_."

"No." It was only by virtue of vampiric strength that he managed to keep Sam from leaving the room. "You must be patient!"

"Patient? You're telling me to be _patient_?"

"Sit," Vicente growled, pushing him down before the table. "And think for a moment. What good does her death do you now?"

"She is _useless_. I want her gone."

"Then you must take it up with the others of the Black Hand."

"They're dead."

"No. They are the two Silencers you didn't find, and they've been promoted." Vicente leaned back, arms crossed. "You may be Listener, but you have not earned the loyalty of the guild yet, much less Arquen's followers. There are those that think she was justified in her killing of Lachance, and those that simply wanted him out of the way."

Sam laughed, a short bitter little thing.

"No wonder I make her nervous."

"No doubt she'll inform the rest of the Hand about this latest... development."

"What can they do? They're still missing a Speaker," he said and stopped. "Have any of them found Silencers yet?"

"That's not the point at all, Samwane." Vicente shot him a look that clearly said how _stupid_ he was being. "You're acting as though your only course of action is to wage war upon the guild itself."

"At the moment, what else is there?"

"_At the moment_, nothing. Which is why we wait." He smiled slowly. "You need the blessing of the entire hand to remove a Speaker. If, by some twist of fate, Lucien should be… reinstated?"

"Isn't there something in the tenets that can expel her?"

Vicente shrugged.

"True, she attacked a fellow member of the brotherhood, but then I'm not sure the circumstances don't relieve her of all guilt." Another elegant shrug. "Or perhaps she's already faced Sithis' Wrath."

Sam shook his head, remembering the look in her eyes.

"I don't think she's slept since his murder."

"Perhaps. It doesn't matter just yet. Continue on with your duties and… your little _project_. I'm certain things will fall into place eventually. If nothing else, perhaps the Morag Tong can be persuaded to an agreement. I happen to know the guild master personally, if you catch my meaning."

Sam felt like laughing. He knew it was absurd. Everything moved in a dream lately. There was too much to be done. Vicente read the look on his face and rose from the table.

"I'll leave you to your work."

And without another word, he was gone.

* * *

Healing a corpse is tricky business and nowhere near easy. He'd be at it for hours yet. But Lachance's mouth at least proved easier than expected. It slipped back into place and knitted without a scar. The rest of him wouldn't be quite so easy.

"Listener?" It was the girl again. She set her tray of food down on the tiny table and carefully picked her way to his side of the room. "I brought you supper."

Sam shook his head irritably, and continued on mouthing the words.

"Oh." Her voice was soft, subdued as she knelt beside him. "I see what you're doing." Another, longer pause. "I can help you."

Finishing the piece he was working on, Sam dropped Lucien's hand and turned to look at her.

"I doubt there's anything you can do, but thank you for the offer."

"No," she said, shaking her head stubbornly. "I can help. My mother had the gift. She could breathe life back into a dead man. I can help."

Sam looked up sharply, meeting her eyes. He'd known better than to assume he was the only one, but… he hadn't expected to _find_ another one.

"You can do it too?" he asked at length.

The girl shook her head.

"I can't call the spirits back. My mother never taught me. But I know how to heal them. I can help you."

Slowly, painfully, Sam smiled.

"Help me then."

She smiled and pushed up from the floor, making her way for the door. Arquen stood just outside, watching.

"I'm sorry." The girl murmured, bowing her head. "But the Listener is too busy to speak."

And without another word, she pulled the doors softly shut, making sure the lock clicked into place. Then, just as softly, made rounds about the room, relighting and replacing the dead candles.

Settling in next to him, she touched the back of his hand, stealing his attention.

"My name's May."

"Samwane." Smiling came a little easier. He had _hope_.

She grinned at him and brought the bloodied sack between them.

"I'll start from the bottom." And realizing the extent of his damage, she blushed a little and patted his thigh. "Poor Lucien."

* * *

They worked in silence for hours, Sam attempting to reaffix the man's side before realizing just how utterly exhausted he was. Reluctant to stop for over long, he rocked back on his heels and took a deep breath, wandering over to the now cold food.

"You've been playing with a corpse," May said without turning. "Rinse your hands first."

He smiled, watching from a distance as she worked, always soothing whatever she fixed. In some distant back part of his mind, he wondered if Lucien had ever been stroked quite so much as he had tonight.

"Did you know him?" He asked, washing his hands in the basin.

She nodded and shrugged.

"Not really well, no. But I…" She stopped, and wiped her eyes against her shoulder. "I was his last foundling. It was just before all this madness broke out. When I met him, he looked hounded. I didn't get his grand introduction. Just a knife and orders to kill a man name Sidae before he slipped out into the rain."

Sam sunk down into the wooden chair, realizing just how much his back ached.

"I take it you knew him better than all of us," she said and glanced back, absently stroking Lucien's stomach. "Were you his lover?"

"Lover? No." He shook his head and stared down at the food. "I was his… personal assassin. His Silencer."

"Ah." She nodded and set back to work in earnest. "So he hasn't the faintest idea how much you love him then."

Sam blinked, startled by her bluntness. For her part, May only laughed.

"Well, it's true, isn't it? Why else would you fight death for him?"

_Only_ _gender and slavish obedience… Love?_

"Don't tell him," he said at last. "Please."

"Don't worry." May smiled sadly, more for herself than him. "He needs to hear it from you."


	4. Chapter Four

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I don't own Elder Scrolls.

Summary: Without him, they'd be nothing. Without them, he would still be alive. They should have known better. Lucien does not pick his silencers idly.

Author's Note: I've written 5,000 words today. Gack!

* * *

Mourner's Dawn 

Chapter Four

* * *

It took three full days to patch Lachance back up. Would have been shorter had Sam not gotten into an argument with May about his broken nose. 

It'd been busted in five separate places. May wanted to leave it and heal it as is. It wasn't really _that_ crooked if you pushed it in the right place. Sam, on the other hand, needed him to be perfect.

_Like there'd never been an attack._

So he'd spent the better part of an hour, prodding and holding and molding, healing in tiny pinpricks until it was finally in the right place.

Three days with no sleep to speak of, with no food May didn't force down his throat. He was exhausted.

But he was finished.

"You should sleep." May perched on the edge of the bed, checking to make sure the bones in his ankles had patched up all right. "Get a few hours in you, then call him back. He won't rot, you know. Not with the enchantments we loaded on him."

Sam shook his head, eyes raking over the Lucien's back, wishing that he could have done something to replace his hair. What was left of it was uneven, an inch long in some places, cutting the scalp in others. Whoever it was hadn't been quite so handy with the knife.

_A shaking hand._

Sam suspected Bellamont.

"Sam." May snapped him out of his daze. "You can't even concentrate on a conversation. How are you supposed to pull him back?"

"Lucien's crotchety. He'll wander off if we make him wait too much longer. I'm not sure he hasn't already."

"Then at least we can put him into the ground whole." She stopped her inspection and moved onto his spine. "Just take a nap, Sam. That's all I'm asking."

"No. It has to be done as soon as we can."

"And you _can't_."

Sam pursed his lips and shook his head.

"You don't know that. I'm going to try."

"Don't be stupid," she snapped, turning to look at him. "He'll drag you under if you're not strong enough to pull him out. And the guardians—"

"There are no guardians."

"The guardians killed my mother, Sam. If you're not careful, they'll drag you down too, make you sick."

"Your mother spent her life as a healer. She wallowed in disease." Sam frowned. "There are no guardians."

May shrugged and moved away from the bed.

"Suit yourself. I'm going to get Vicente."

"Vicente?" It was strange enough to stop him in his tracks. "_Why_?"

"Because he's strong enough to tie you down," she said, as if it were the most normal thing the world. "You need to sleep, Sam."

And then she slipped off down the corridor, shutting the doors behind her. Sam watched her go for a moment, not knowing what hour it was, or how much time he had. If it was morning, she'd have a hell of a time waking Vicente up. If it was midnight, he'd probably be out.

Best not to risk it. Sam closed his eyes and searched.

* * *

"You've been missing for quite awhile." Arquen said, catching up to her as she left the room. "Vicente says you haven't completed any contracts." 

"I've been helping the listener." She faced straight ahead and kept on down the hall. But the altmer wasn't about to let her pass. Catching her arm, she pulled her around.

"Show some respect, girl." The last word punctuated with a resounding slap.

May's head dropped.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now, tell me. What are you two up to in there?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I have to get to Vicente. It's urgent."

"Vicente can wait," she growled. "Answer the question."

"What question?" Vicente asked, padding down the hallway for his room. "And why am I waiting?"

May didn't bother to hide her relief.

"Sam's about to do something very stupid. I need your help."

"Stupid?" Arquen looked between the two of them. "What's he doing?"

But apparently Vicente understood, as he nodded and opened the doors to his room.

"He's still in the room above, yes? Mine and his are connected. Follow me."

Arquen glared, storming after them.

"Murderer! You were not dismissed."

"She is." Vicente fixed her with a look that shot terror through her heart. "And you may take it up with _me_ later."

He strode over and very nearly shoved her out of the room, locking the doors behind her. Slowly, her heart rate returned to normal. But the whisper in the back of her head remained.

_Prey, _it hissed. _You're about to be prey._

* * *

They were too late. Arquen's distraction had cost them the few precious minutes they had. Sam was laying with his head pressed against the edge of the bed, like a child praying. 

Vicente was at his side in a second, checking for a pulse.

_There_.

A flutter against his fingers. Sam was alive still, only exhausted past all tolerance. And Lucien… Lucien was breathing.

Vicente grinned, while behind him May alternately praised and cursed Sam's efforts, all the while doing a silly little dance of success.

"You should stay with Lachance," Vicente said, cutting through her noise as he leaned down and lifted the little Bosmer into his arms.

She stopped and looked up.

"Where are you going with him?"

"I intend on keeping him in my rooms. I don't trust Arquen enough to leave him in the commons just yet. And besides," a secret little smile then, "Lucien will probably want to see him when he wakes. Can't have two dead men roaming the halls, can we?"

* * *

Arquen glared, leaning as close to the doors as she dared. She could hear them inside, laughing and carrying on. And then voices, names, soft agreements. Nothing came through clear enough to make sense of, but it was there. She clenched her teeth. 

Why was no one coming out? For that matter, what was the emergency?

Had the Listener died?

No, no… They would have emerged with the body if nothing else. No, May had said he was about to do something stupid. _About to_. Which meant they were probably convincing him otherwise.

No doubt this had something to do with that traitor's body.

_Bellamont was the traitor. The Night Mother…but what if the Mother was wrong?_

She shook her head, pushing the thoughts away. Perhaps Lucien Lachance wasn't the traitor, but he deserved what he got. He'd been a thorn in the guild's side, _her_ side for far too long. If he thought he could run around playing with whoever the hell he felt like, he was dead wrong.

_Dead._

And that poor boy, his Silencer, had been drawn into this whole mess as well. Damn Lucien with his snake's tongue. No doubt he'd promised the boy something to win such loyalty. What was it, she wondered.

She doubted Sam was dull enough to believe Lucien could love anyone other than himself.

But, no… Maybe that _was_ it. The boy had killed for love of him, and for love of him, would raise the dead.

"Oh, no." She whispered, running a hand through her hair.

This was very, _very_ bad.


	5. Chapter Five

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I don't own Elder Scrolls.

Summary: Without him, they'd be nothing. Without them, he would still be alive. They should have known better. Lucien does not pick his silencers idly.

* * *

Mourner's Dawn

Chapter Five

* * *

Lucien felt like he was wading through water, drowning, falling. He couldn't breathe… and then he could, great, shattering, rasping breaths that seemed to fill the room.

_Room?_

He could hear voices. Sam, Vicente…

_Vicente?_

Vicente was dead. Which meant, logically, that he was also dead. And didn't that make sense? With the Hand turned against him? He should be dead, anyway. No one could survive that. By the nine, he'd been torn to _pieces_.

He couldn't deal with this now. He was too bloody _tired_. Lucien let go, let the drift take him as he floated back into that reaching oblivion.

* * *

May frowned and pressed a hand to the sleeping man's shoulder, watching as he shook with the force of his nightmares.

"Hey," she whispered, leaning close. "It's all over. Everything's all right. Hush."

He calmed slightly and she smiled.

"That's better. You sleep easy. Sam's just downstairs. He'll protect you."

An angry twitch at that.

_I don't need protected._

She only smiled, completely oblivious; stroking what was left of his once beautiful hair.

"Hush now, you just sleep."

* * *

Hours passed and slowly, ever so slowly, Lucien woke, staring at the ceiling of a room he vaguely recognized.

_Ocheeva… Ocheeva's dead._

His eyes ached. Even the soft candlelight bothered him.

"Oh, you're awake," An all to cheerful voice piped at his side. "Are you hungry?"

Hungry? His stomach rebelled at the mere thought of food. Seeing him turn a delicate shade of green, May grinned and set down her book.

"Didn't think so. But my mother raised and Orc once—"

"Where am I?" he ground out, managing to catch her attention. "And where exactly are my clothes?"

"Cheydinhal." She wasn't the least bit shy as she bounded up. "And you didn't come with any clothes."

_The attack. Stripped down, his clothes left in tatters littering an old woman's garden._

"But you can wear these." She came over to the side of the bed with a bundle of dark clothing. "Sam brought them back from some fort earlier this week. I don't think they're his, so they should fit."

His most foreboding hide-away reduced to _some fort._ Lucien grit his teeth and swung his legs over the bed.

Gods, it hurt to _move_.

The girl turned away, looking at anything but him as he dressed with painstaking, jerky motions.

"Are you dressed?" she asked at length.

"Look if you like. I'm hardly about to murder anyone today."

Soon, maybe, but not today.

She turned back to find him with his breeches in place, working the ties of his shirt with fingers that felt clumsy and frozen.

"Oh," she said sadly, watching him. "Your hands were broken everywhere. Sam and I had a hell of a time patching them back up. With all the magic sitting there, it'll take time for the blood to get used to it."

He looked up, feeling the ache at the base of his neck where Bellamont had clubbed him.

"You helped to... fix me?"

She nodded, watching as he finally managed to slip the shirt on.

"Sam and I both. It'd have taken him ages otherwise."

"How long _did_ it take?"

"Three days."

"And how long was I dead?"

"About a week." She smiled at him. "What's the last you remember?"

"Dying. You mentioned Samwane?"

"Down in Vicente's." Before he could protest, she plopped a robe over his head.

Lucien glared but slipped his arms in.

"I can manage, thank you," he snarled and rose from the bed, determined to keep from staggering.

"It's normal to be dizzy." May smiled kindly at him, watching as he stood stone still in the middle of the room, warring with his balance. "Maybe you should take the stairs instead of the ladder."

She shut her mouth with a click. _Stupid!_ She shouldn't have said it. Ego as large as his would have to prove her wrong. Hopefully without incident.

But when he walked, it looked almost as though he had his head on straight . She stopped feeling quite so bad about the whole thing then and ventured off in search of food.

* * *

Vicente smiled at him when he slipped the last few feet to the floor, staggering slightly.

"So you're alive after all."

Lucien stopped in his tracks, an eyebrow cocked.

"So are you."

Vicente shrugged.

"Sam was three hundred years too late. Sit. You look about to faint."

Lucien scowled, making his way to the edge of the bed before obeying.

"How is he?" he asked. "Is he alright?"

"Sleeping." Vicente turned back to his book. "He hasn't for nearly a week."

"Touching." Lucien murmured, sweeping the boy's hair from his eyes. "Stupid, but touching."

Sam shifted slightly at the touch, turning towards Lucien. Vicente's smile faded.

"He braved death for you, you know."

"Obviously."

"So what was it you told him?"

Lucien frowned, turning to look at him despite his neck's throbbing protests.

"I don't believe I've had the opportunity to tell him anything."

The vampire stared at him, a silent challenge.

"What did you promise him, Lucien?"

"Nothing. I've promised him nothing."

"So he did it for revenge? Love of the hunt? Wanted to kill you himself, is that it?" Vicente's voice was tightly controlled, but Lucien recognized the anger in it.

"You blame me? And yet I don't recall asking him to resurrect me."

Vicente was not moved.

"You make enemies, Lachance, because you charm without a guard on your tongue. In this case, it would seem you've won an ally. What did you tell him?"

"Hard of hearing after all these centuries, Vicente?" Lucien glared. "He is my Silencer. Nothing more."

"Was."

"What do you mean? He's not dead yet."

"He's not your Silencer."

Lucien stopped then, realizing that his death may have thrown things into a very different light.

"He's been made Speaker since my death?"

Vicente said nothing.

"They've not expelled him, have they? He had nothing to do with whatever betrayal they _think_ I committed."

Silence still. Lucien pursed his lips, frustrated.

"What's wrong with you? Speak, damn it!"

"By your death, he took Speaker."

Lucien laughed and relaxed.

"Why could you not have simply said—"

"By the deaths the traitor forced, he took Listener."

Lucien froze.

"_What?"_ There was a wicked sharp edge to that one word.

"He's Listener. Your superior." Vicente uncrossed his arms and returned to his book once more. "So whatever it is you promised him, you had best make good on now."

Lucien fell silent.

_Silencer. _My_ Silencer._

There was no way in the world this would have happened had Arquen not turned the tide of war against him. The position as Listener had been waiting for _him_. Everyone knew that he would succeed Ungolim after his death.

_Everyone._

But then, they'd both been dead, hadn't they? The position was lost. And this _child_, a boy barely out of his teens, was Listener. Undefeatable, perhaps. Clever, yes.

Listener?

He hadn't been trained. There was more to Listener than playing gods' courier. The enemies, the negotiations, the divisions among the Dark Brotherhood itself.

This was insane!

_The position is mine. Mine!_

"You needn't look so distraught," Vicente said, breaking through his thoughts. "He is your protégé after all."

"He's not ready."

"You say that out of jealousy."

"He didn't understand the mechanics of the guild as Silencer, he's not going to bloody well understand now!"

Vicente glared.

"A whole _week_, Lucien," he snapped. "And now you've woken him up."


	6. Chapter Six

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I don't own Elder Scrolls.

Summary: Without him, they'd be nothing. Without them, he would still be alive. They should have known better. Lucien does not pick his silencers idly.

* * *

Mourner's Dawn

Chapter Six

* * *

Sam blinked groggily, only half awake. Seeing Lucien, his face lit.

"You're alive."

"Of course." Vicente rose, casting Lucien a cryptic glance. "You need to sleep, Sam."

"No, I'm awake now. I'm fine." Not the best argument all things considered. Gently, Vicente pressed him back into the bed.

"Go to sleep, child."

Sam blinked owlishly at him, understanding only half of what was said.

"No, Vicente. I've got a bit left yet. I need to find—"

"Sam," Lucien cut him off. "It's alright. Sleep."

Confusion warred, and slowly, Sam began to wake up.

"No, you don't understand. I have to go upstairs. There's too much to do."

"That was an _order_, Silencer."

And Sam was just sleepy enough to obey.

_Silencer_. _Listener._ _Everything's all gone wrong._

Lucien forced this thoughts off, watching as the boy, his _Silencer_ slipped back into sleep. The kid was beyond exhausted, past all waking coherency. In a strange way, it was almost endearing. But more than that, it scared him. Scared him that Sam would go to such extreme lengths for him.

Granted, he was alive. He should be grateful that he'd been given a chance to plot his revenge.

Vicente was silent for a long moment, watching the boy's breathing even out before he spoke.

"Odd," he said at last. "Odd that he follows your every command without question."

"Don't even start, Vicente," Lucien snapped, still watching the boy.

"I start nothing you have not already begun. You make too many enemies, Lucien, and you wonder why you were so horribly murdered."

"It was Arquen who turned the tide against me. No other."

"And yet you couldn't hold their loyality?"

"You can't please everyone."

Vicente glared openly.

"As if you try. You and I both know you work only for your own gain."

"And yet my recruits know no end to loyalty?"

"They mean _nothing_, you idiot child."

"Except, of course, my _Listener,_" he spat the last, the word bitter.

Vicente only shook his head.

"And yet he's in the throes of some slavish obsession."

"Which, I might add, I had nothing to do with."

The vampire said nothing and turned away.

"You act as though you haven't done things far worse than I." Lucien glared, watching the vampire through narrowed eyes.

"And I've had more than twice the time in which to do them." Slowly, he looked up, pale features painted with unconcern. "You do realize, Lucien, that my loyalty rests first and foremost with the Listener?"

"The Listener." Lucien snorted. "Has he lost his name? You act as though he were born of some divine providence, meant only to carry the Night Mother's little love notes. He was a murderer once, Vicente, a Silencer. _My_ Silencer. And he should be still."

"Can you not accept that his skill surpasses your own?"

"By my _death!_"

"So defeat him then. Kill you protégé. Make him step down for your own jealousy. If you can best him, you can surely best the Wrath of Sithis."

Lucien deflated slightly, staring down at the boy who was twitching in his sleep. After a moment, the anger faded.

"I can't."

"He means something to you then."

"My loyalty." Lucien glared and stood. "He was my Silencer."

It was only a simple, stupid fight, but it exhausted him. Lucien crawled back into bed, still dressed, aching in a hundred different places. And slowly, he slipped into sleep.

* * *

_The woods. He'd come back from the woods. Only out of the house for a moment and in that moment they swarmed, surrounding him. Four against him, all with knives at the ready, magic glinting at their fingertips._

_Silver in the moonlight. Silver daggers. And in the reflection, he recognized the spell. Sam had used it on him once, and only once, when he'd manage to frustrate him past all tolerance._

_Full body paralysis._

_And he'd beaten Sam so badly for it the boy never dared cast it again, even on the rare days when Lucien purposely goaded him into a fight. _

_This was bad. Very bad._

_"Killing me will accomplish nothing," he shouted. All he needed was to weaken one, just one. "The traitor's still among you."_

_Arquen tisked, a mad light in her eyes._

_"To think you'd still try to weasel your way free when you're so obviously trapped. We've caught you, rat. And we will have our revenge."_

_"Problem being you have the wrong man. My Silencer—"_

_"Don't you try to pin this on him. We know he was only following orders." She smiled. "But don't worry, Lucien. We understand his… _admiration_ has blinded him." Another threatening smile. "You certainly know how to pick them, don't you?"_

_They were getting too close. Lucien swallowed his pride and retreated a step._

_"Wait a day and my Silencer will have proof of my innocence." All this and praying Sam would return earlier than expected, even if it was without the evidence he needed. That boy was a wonder. Together, they could win this fight. For two, it was not impossible._

Sam! Where the hell are you?

_"No doubt he's creating this proof as we speak." One of the men this time. Bellamont, he suspected. Hoods and darkness._

_Lucien realized he couldn't placate them, and damn sure couldn't fight them. He had to run. In a split second, his magic washed over him, cloaking him. Chameleon. _

_But they'd expected his trick._

_Paralysis. Ancotar's Reverse Chameleon. Something to force his shadows off._

_He knew then he was lost._

* * *

May watched on in concern as Lucien became hopelessly tangled in the sheets, twisting away from knives he couldn't fend off. Hating to see the man in pain, however imagined, she slipped down the ladder to see if Vicente could help. But he was in much the same boat.

Sam had curled up into a ball and was shaking so badly the bed shook with him. Vicente was doing his best, but even the whisper of a spell he used to quiet his prey fell short. Sam would not stop.

"Get Lucien," he said upon seeing her, a cold note in his voice. "He should be able to do something."

She nodded and fled back up the ladder. Lucien's night terrors were to be expected. But Sam… Poor Sam. He'd run himself ragged and now he'd fallen ill.

"Lachance!" She shook his shoulder. Always one way to end a nightmare. "Sam's have a tough time of it. We need your help. _Lachance!_"

He woke then with a jerk, ripping from his nightmares and nearly taking her head off in the process. It was only by sheer luck she managed to jump back at the right moment.

"_What_?" He snapped, limping down the ladder, irritable and half mad, heart still pumping with the force of his fight.

Vicente looked at him with an expression on his face that did _not_ bode well.

"What's happened? He's breathing still, I can tell that much. Is he alright?"

"Nightmares, Lucien?" he asked cryptically.

"What do you mean?" As soon as he reached the side of the bed, Sam uncurled, some semblance of a peaceful sleep restored.

"Were you having nightmares?" Vicente asked this time.

"I was just killed and mutilated by various members of the Black Hand. I believe I'm entitled."

"Is than an affirmative?"

A short, curt nod. Vicente swore.

Sam had done something very, _very_ stupid.


	7. Chapter Seven

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I don't own Elder Scrolls.

Summary: Without him, they'd be nothing. Without them, he would still be alive. They should have known better. Lucien does not pick his silencers idly.

Author's Note: I couldn't really think of a more delicate way to put it.

* * *

Mourner's Dawn 

Chapter Seven

* * *

"I don't understand what my nightmares have to do with anything." Lucien frowned and crossed his arms, never straying far from the boy's side. 

Vicente only shook his head, aggravated and distressed.

"That's because you're self centered and _blind_." Vicente glowered. "Sam was desperate to save an ungrateful idiot without enough intelligent enough to bloody well stay put when his own damn survival depended on it. You drifted too far away, Lucien. He had to bind himself to you to pull you out."

Lucien was totally unmoved.

"I fail to see how that is in any way my fault."

"Perhaps," Vicente said, drawing to the opposite side of the room. "But it's your responsibility."

"He knew the risks," Lucien growled, glaring. "I did nothing."

Vicente drew close, eyes flashing.

"That doesn't matter. What matters is if, for any reason, he becomes incapacitated Arquen becomes Listener in his stead."

"She has no _right_." Lucien barely hid his fury. "She should be _dead!_"

"Control yourself," Vicente snapped, seeing Sam had started his shaking again.

Lucien glared but forced the anger down, back into the abyss, to be acted upon later. Sam stilled.

"So what," he asked, keeping his tone steady, "do you suggest we do?"

"We need to hide this," a gesture towards the bed, "from Arquen."

"Shouldn't prove too difficult. She's stupid as a pig."

"Pigs have their moments of cunning. Managed to kill you, did she not?"

Lucien frowned, but didn't react.

"I sincerely doubt that hiding it is the best course of action."

"For now it is." Vicente sighed and sat down. "We need to hide it just long enough to figure out how it can be broken."

Lucien said nothing, feeling vaguely ill as he watched Sam twitch in his sleep.

_Listener_.

"What does this mean, exactly?" He looked up, a curious light in his eyes. "This binding you mentioned."

Vicente glanced at him, emotion flitting across his face, disappearing as quickly as it came.

He recognized it as discomfort.

"He feels what you feel," he said at last. "Awake, it shouldn't bother him. But he leaves himself open to you when he sleeps."

Lucien fell silent. So he had some strange control over his Silencer still. But obviously, some sort of plan was running through the kid's mind. Revenge, succession perhaps. Sam was intelligent. Perhaps he knew he wasn't ready, that it wasn't for him. Or maybe there was a war brewing.

Something. Sam needed him for something. He had to have a plan. Slowly, Lucien smiled. To be honest, so did he.

It wasn't much, really. Just a flicker of an idea, a possibility.

Whatever Sam had done, it'd given him control.

* * *

Arquen managed to corner May in the kitchens unawares. Finally, the chance at a straight answer. 

"I notice our dearest Listener has not emerged." She said pleasantly, leaning against the doorframe. "Has he fallen ill? It's nearly time to speak to the Night Mother."

"No." May glanced at her, uncomfortable. "He's only sleeping, ma'am. He hasn't for more than a week now."

"And what's this project of his that's held him so busy? Not that corpse, I hope."

May nodded, staring down into the pot.

"Oh, dear," Arquen sighed. "This isn't good. I knew I shouldn't have let him bring it here. It's not healthy."

"It was good that he did." May met her eyes. "Lucien's wouldn't be doing so well at the fort."

A flash of fear, well hidden.

"What do you mean?"

"Too cold." She glanced back. "He'd take ill."

"Ill?" Her frustrating and alarm was visible now. "He's _dead."_

"No."

"_No?_ Have you lost your mind? Of course he's dead. I killed him myself! I—"

"He's behind you, you know."

"You idiot girl!" She was becoming rather red in the face. "He can't be behind me. I _know_ he can't be behind me. There's no way in hell he could possibly have survived what we did to him. His _back_ was _broken_."

"Have you quiet finished?" Lucien asked, standing a few feet from the doorway with a look of complete unconcern. "Or would you rather carry on in your attempts to completely barricade the door with your massive girth?"

"You shouldn't be up yet," May scolded. "You need to sleep."

"Can't," he said simply, and shouldered past Arquen, fully ignoring his shoulder's protests.

"You're… alive," she whispered at last.

"Obviously."

He carried on looking for food without ever glancing back at her.

"But… but how is that even possible?"

Lucien smiled then, a discomforting thing.

"My Silencer's brilliant with his hands."

"If you are referring to Sam," she said, gathering her dignity about her, "he has since risen to Listener."

"Hardly."

"Hardly? What do you mean by that?"

"Dense, aren't you?"

"Lucien," May cut in. "You really should be sleeping."

"Did I ask for your opinion?" he snapped, tearing off a hunk of bread.

Arquen watched him, feeling miles away and wondering if she really wasn't dreaming after all.

May, for her part, had long since lost all fear for him. Seeing as how she had been the one to reattach his more masculine parts, it was bound to happen eventually.

"You owe us your life, you know. You could be a little more grateful." She crossed her arms, glaring. "I'd think you'd be proud of Sam at least."

"Proud? Of what? Of his determination to get himself killed? Hardly."

"Hardly!" Arquen's knuckles had gone white on the edge of the table. "Is that all you can say? Hardly?"

Lucien smirked and parroted her last word in answer to her question. Arquen had to clench her teeth hard against her rising anger.

"I understand that Bellamont was the one to order all those killings. But that does _not_ in any way exclude you from suspicion," she grit out. "I believe you are a traitor still. Or soon to be, at least. And damned if I will let you take our dear Listener down."

"Listener?" He seemed genuinely surprised, a wonderful actor. "Do you mean my Silencer?"

"He has risen. There is nothing you can do."

"Actually, there is." His smile was positively wicked. "Check the code if you like. Sam doesn't rise until _I_ dismiss him from my service."

"Or die," she said through clenched teeth.

"Or step down." Another perfect smile. "Seeing as how I am neither dead nor about to step down…" He let the statement hang, a soft threat.

"But you _were_ dead," she insisted stubbornly.

"How can you be sure I was ever dead at all?"

"I _killed_ you!"

"Ah," there was a glowing triumph in his eyes. "So you admit to breaking the code?  
"Killing a traitor does not make _me_ a traitor!"

"I did nothing." Lucien was enjoying this game of his. "So you killed a comparatively innocent man. Which means you don't really belong in this guild hall at all, do you?"

"What are you saying?" she asked, nostrils flaring.

"You've broken the code. By rights, you are expelled."

"I could not pass the door if I were."

"A technicality. The hand has not reformed and your _Listener _has been… otherwise occupied. I'm sure once I bring the matter to his attention—"

"You can do _nothing_! I am the mother of this guildhall. I cannot—"

"Mother?" His eyes flashed. "That title is bestowed only by the Listener himself."

"There are no other members of the Black Hand that can claim it! All others belong to a hall!"

"Perhaps," Lucien grinned. "But the code also happens to mention that guild halls must fall to a member of the Black Hand or a more experienced guild member."

"You are calling me incompetent? I was competent enough to cut your _bloody dick off!_"

Anger flared but Lucien kept in well under control.

"My dear, stupid child." A bitter tint to his smile. "Not only do I best you by ten years, but Vicente bests us both by _centuries_. It is the Listener's decision. A Listener who remains, by all rights, _my_ Silencer."

Arquen glared, teeth bared.

"So be it," she snarled and stormed out of the room, leaving behind a rather uncomfortable murderer and a man with murder in his eyes.


	8. Chapter Eight

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I don't own Elder Scrolls.

Summary: Without him, they'd be nothing. Without them, he would still be alive. They should have known better. Lucien does not pick his silencers idly.

Author's Note: Eldamil! And conspiracy theories! Yay!

* * *

Lucien returned to the room with food, looking rather pleased with himself all things told. If ever he had fought Vicente over learning that idiotic code, he recanted now. 

Sam was still his Silencer by right. He could, if he were feeling generous, let the whole thing slip by seemingly unnoticed. Sam could go about his life as Listener and get killed shortly after.

He wasn't, after all, used to having enemies. And really, Lucien _could_ let Sam die.

But making Arquen's life miserable _with_ him would be so much more enjoyable. Besides, it wasn't as if he wanted Sam dead. The boy was he protégé, his shining achievement. He liked the kid if nothing else.

He was loyal… loyal past all sense of death. Sam had risked his life for him. No matter what he told Vicente, he was grateful.

"Lucien," Vicente said, snapping him out of his thoughts. "If you refuse to sleep, stay here at least and watch Sam. I'm starving and exhausted."

"Of course." He tried for a winning smile, but Vicente knew better than to believe it.

"You realize if I come back to find him injured in any way…"

"I'll take care of him." Lucien frowned, moving to sit beside Sam, the boy curled with his back to him. "I'm not about to kill him."

"Wouldn't put it past you." And irritably pushing the hair from his eyes, Vicente left.

* * *

Lucien slipped into the bed himself, sitting with his back against the stone wall. Murmuring something in his sleep, Sam turned and wriggled closer. Moments passed in silence, and then the muttering started again. 

Frowning, Lucien put down his book and pressed a hand to the boy's head.

"You're feverish."

Sam caught him before he could pull away, reveling in the cold of his hands. Lucien sighed and gently prized himself free, mouthing a litany of spells as he ran through them in his head.

Injuries, yes. He could cure a hundred different wounds. But unless Sam had contracted some disease, he could do nothing.

Just to be safe, he tried. But Sam's fever did not abate. And so, rather than leave the poor boy to suffer, he cast a soft ice spell and pulled him close.

Sam, for his part, woke up.

"Lucien." He looked distracted, wild eyed. "I need to—"

"Sleep. That's the only thing you need now, Sam. You're feverish."

"Upstairs?"

Lucien tried to parse the meaning, but rather suspected it was nonsense.

"Nothing's upstairs that you need."

"I'm not finished. I _need_ to work."

Realizing what it was he thought he needed to work on, Lucien grabbed his face in both hands, forcing Sam to look him in the eye.

"If I'm here, then obviously you've finished."

Confusion. And then, at length, Sam accepted and relaxed.

"I thought it wouldn't work."

"Apparently, it almost didn't."

"You… I couldn't find you. You'd wandered off!" The frustration was back. And strangely, it brought an odd, sick feeling to the pit of Lucien's stomach. "I reached, I tried but you wouldn't _listen_."

He tried to laugh it off, to pretend he wasn't feeling a glimmer of whatever Sam was experiencing.

"Perhaps I was comfortable."

"You were _lost_. I had to reach. So… so I jumped. Eldamil…" he stopped for a long moment, thinking, staring at Lucien in shock. "Eldamil's dead."

Lucien agreed, though obviously had no idea who the hell Eldamil _was_.

"He told me it was idiotic chasing after the dead, but he helped… helped me because I'd helped him."

"So everything's alright now." Lucien smiled, petting the boy's hair back. "Go to sleep."

"No," Sam decided. "Something's broken. I feel wretched."

"You've caught fever." He smiled, laying a tin sheen of ice over the boy's cheek. "Probably comes from sleeping with corpses for a week."

"One corpse," Sam murmured, curling back into his hip. "And I didn't sleep with you."

"Vicente tells me you haven't slept at all. Is it true?"

"No. Went to find your clothes Wednesday. Slept in Farragut for a few hours."

Lucien snorted and smoothed back his hair.

"May as well not mention it if that's all."

A strange, noncommittal noise and Sam shifted, following that blessedly cool hand until his head landed on Lucien's lap. For a moment, he froze, but Lucien said nothing and so he relaxed, content to be iced as he was petted.

Lucien smiled. He'd forgotten, in light of revenge and wrongful advancement, how much he adored this kid.

_Love. You know you do. Just admit you've fallen in over your head._

He was clever, and for an assassin, alarmingly sweet.

_Why else would Listener scare you so much? You don't want to lose control. You don't want him to leave you._

Sam had risked death for him in more ways than one. There was no way he could repay such loyalty with betrayal.

Sam, after all, could have chosen to believe the rest of the Black Hand, could have gone along and named him traitor as well.

But he didn't He was loyal. Amazingly loyal.

_You're terrified that if he becomes Listener, he'll send you away. You'll lose your power over him, his respect. This, this coddling, will never happen again._

Sam had only fallen sick one other time. But that was from exhaustion only. He should have known better when Sam wanted one contract after another, should have known he was avoiding something— sleep, likely.

He had staggered down the ladder, announced the contract complete, and promptly passed out. Lucien's reflexes had not slowed with time. He caught him well before he hit, carrying him into bed.

_His _bed.

The boy had been out for the day. One whole day in which he was able to watch without being observed.

_You love him. Why can't you just admit you love him?_

No.

If anything it was lust, nothing more. And gods knew that was common enough. Hell, he'd even admit to it.

He wanted him.

_Need_.

It wasn't as though the Bosmer wasn't attractive, after all.

_Beautiful._

It wouldn't take much. A bit of wine, a push in the right direction…

_So why haven't you done it already?_

Lucien closed his eyes, fingers tightening in the boy's hair.

He did _not_ want to think of that.

* * *

It was noon the next day when Sam's fever broke and he finally pulled himself from the oddity of his dreams. Lucien lay sprawled next to him, close enough to feel the man's breath whispering over his shoulder, one arm tucked neatly over his waist. 

Under any other circumstances, he'd have relaxed. But his dreams clung to him still, forcing him into wakefulness. They were not the nightmares of Oblivion he'd grown accustomed to. He'd woken not with the lingering scent of blood and ash but with a niggling curiosity in the back of his mind.

Disentangling himself from the other man, he crept upstairs to find his pack, pulling from it the traitor's diary.

Curiosity. Only curiosity. Bellamont was mad, after all. It won't prove anything.

Not that it helped at all. Sam settled in, hunched over in his seat, the book propped on the table. The writing spiraled— woven too tightly to read in places while in others it took up half the page.

He should have known when he received the first odd dead drop. Lucien's writing was elegant and compact, not this flowing mass of odds and ends that took up half the page.

It was in one of these sections of huge cursive that he found what he was looking for.

**_My daddy's hands are red with guilt, because he killed the life we built_**.

And then, on the next page

**_…rend the head from her body just as Lucien Lachance did to you._**

And towards the end

**_There's someplace I need to start and that's with Father's beating heart and when that's done, I'll sing and dance to celebrate a dead Lachance._**

Did that mean…

"Oh, gods." Sam murmured, eyes wide as he shut the book. "Lucien's _son?"_


	9. Chapter Nine

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I don't own Elder Scrolls.

Summary: Without him, they'd be nothing. Without them, he would still be alive. They should have known better. Lucien does not pick his silencers idly.

* * *

"You woke me up to show me this?" Lucien glared from his nest of blankets.

"_Look_." Sam shoved the book a little closer, only to have it knocked out of his hands.

Lucien rolled over, turning his back.

"The writings of a mad man. Either come to bed or get _out_."

"Lucien, you're not listening." Sam picked up the book and jumped on top of him, straddling Lucien's hips in a heart beat. "Read this."

"Why, may I ask, are you sitting on me?" He drawled, pillowing his head with his hands.

"Just read it."

"I can see it, Sam. Bellamont's journal."

"It says you're his father."

Taken off guard, Lucien burst out laughing.

"Amazing," he finally managed, words broken. "Not even in the _womb_ and already I've sired a child."

Seeing the look on Sam's face, he stopped.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

Sitting up as far as he could with the Bosmer on his legs, he gently pried the book away from him and tossed it across the room.

"He was two years my senior, Sam. There's no way it's possible."

"But…" He frowned, falling into silence as Lucien pushed him off and onto the bed. "He said he'd be celebrating a Lachance's death when he killed his father."

A perfect, elegant arch of the eyebrows.

"And you think I'm the only Lachance left in Cyrodil?"

A great sweeping relief washed over him.

"He referred to you before, I'd assumed—"

"You assume too much." In one clean motion, he pulled the covers over them both. "He was my cousin."

"Cousin?"

"Bellamont's mother was a whore, somewhat unfortunately wed to a Lachance. When he found out, my uncle came to my father for help. At the time, my father was a Silencer. He sent me. It was a fitting initiation into the guild."

"How old was Bellamont?"

"Too old enough to have been hiding under the bed." Lucien smiled then, laughing at the memory. "I dragged him out and tossed him in the river. Strange he doesn't remember it. It was the highlight of my day."

Placated, Sam rose from bed, only to have Lucien pull him back by the tail of his shirt.

"I don't recall telling you to leave, Silencer."

"Listener," Sam corrected, pulling his shirt free. "And the bed upstairs has been cleaned. We may as well let Vicente have his room back."

"About that." There was a smile on the Speaker's face he didn't like. "Upon my resurrection we've come to somewhat of a technicality."

"And it is?" he asked, torn between dread and an odd, flickering sense of hope.

"To be promoted, I must first release you from my service. That, my dear boy, never happened."

"You were dead," he deadpanned, unamused.

"Exactly. And in my absence, you were promoted." Together they made their way up the ladder. When Sam reached the top, he continued. "But now that I am alive, it falls to me to approve your promotion."

"And?"

"And I don't."

"Lucien," Sam growled, eyes flashing. "You were _dead_. I earned my rank."

The older man only shrugged.

"You needn't worry, Sam. I'm not going to force you to step down. That would be _stupid_."

"How so?" he asked, gingerly following him into bed.

"Because just now you're both Listener and Silencer. Which makes my position something of interest."

Sam smirked and shook his head.

"But you're still only a Speaker. Which means I outrank you."

"Not quite, pet." Still that calm, infuriating smile. "In situations such as these your prior commitments take precedence. You are my Silencer, and _only_ my Silencer. To the rest of the world, you are Listener."

"So I must obey you." Not so much a question, but the hint was there.

Lucien nodded.

"Yes. It does make my rank a rather interesting one, doesn't it?"

"And what, exactly, would you have me do?"

"Just at the moment, nothing really."

Sam crossed his arms, back against the wall.

"Just spit it out, Lucien."

_So bitter. You'd do best not to push him too far. He's beginning to resent you._

"Don't look at me that way. I sincerely doubt you'll take offense to it. Not if you possess a scrap of loyalty."

Sam sighed and the bitter cloud passed.

"I brought you back from the dead," he murmured, never meeting his eyes. "Is that not loyalty enough?"

Lucien smiled and gently maneuvered the boy so that he lay beside him.

"I know. And I am grateful. Which is why you'll find me so much more _pliant_ than before. I will not order you, Sam. Merely suggest."

Sam relaxed visibly and Lucien smiled. The loss of control was worth it to see that boy's faith in him restored.

"What exactly are you _suggesting_ then?" he asked, turning to look at Lachance.

"Arquen has set herself up as mistress of this hall."

A glimmer of rage and pure hate passed over Sam's face and he knew he'd be met with no opposition.

"I'm hoping," the emotion was barely restrained in his voice, "that you're about to tell me there's something I can do about this?"

"Oh, most definitely." Lucien grinned. "It falls to the Listener to pick the masters of the guild. She is somewhat illegally instated."

"Somewhat?" Sam turned his whole body then, so that they lay breast to breast.

"She will no doubt tell you that it falls to a member of the Black Hand to run a hall."

"Ocheeva was a member of the Hand?"

"No." Lucien smiled. "Technically, I was the master of this guild hall. I simply left her in charge."

"I can reinstate you then, can't I?"

"I wouldn't, if I were you."

"But if it was you—"

"And Vicente wonders why I say you're not ready for this. _Think_, Sam. The majority of the remaining hand sees me as a threat, and possibly a traitor still. Were I to regain control of this guild hall, they would likely wage war against you."

"I'd kill her before I let her have her way."

"Shhh…" A simple spell and Sam slumped in a boneless pile against the pillows. Lucien stroked his hair away from his face and leaned back. "You must learn to control your anger."

"I won't leave her in charge," he whispered with some effort.

But Lucien only shook his head.

"And you don't have to. Put Vicente in charge."

"But he's no longer a member of the Black Hand."

"No longer?" Lucien laughed. "So you know then?"

"I guessed." A flicker of a smile. "He told me."

"Then I suppose you know why he lords his power over me."

"Old habits?" Sam guessed with a glimmer in his eyes.

Lucien smiled.

_You beautiful elf. Damned if I can't make you mine._

"There are times when experiences holds over position. Vicente has been in and out of nearly every guild rank. He is more than capable of holding the hall. You can instate him. That way, the Hand won't be so suspicious. Especially if you let slip some story about my apparent incompetence. No doubt caused by a seething need for revenge."

"If they think I don't trust you, they'll kill you."

"They won't kill me. Not after you went to such lengths to restore me." Lucien's smile held a predatory light to his eyes. "They'll simply come to _you_ with their every suspicion concerning _me_."

Slowly, Sam smiled. It could work. At ease now, he gave into Lucien's demands and slept.


	10. Chapter Ten

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I don't own Elder Scrolls.

Summary: Without him, they'd be nothing. Without them, he would still be alive. They should have known better. Lucien does not pick his silencers idly.

Author's Note: I am back. Hurrah. Aren't you pleased?

* * *

Lucien watched the Bosmer's breathing even out before slipping from the bed. It really figured that just when he needed a knife, he'd have no idea in hell where it was any of his weapons had gone off to. Probably sitting on that old crone's grave back in Apple Watch.

It figured. It really did.

But there was no way in hell he could walk around with half his hair shorn off. From the feel of it, he suspected he looked absolutely ridiculous. Wincing as his hip heartily protested the bearing of weight, Lucien made his way across the room.

He _knew_ Ocheeva had a mirror here. It was simply a matter of finding it.

* * *

Arquen sat at the tiny table in the corner of the training room, head in her hands. It was late. Very late. Nearly three in the morning. Everyone, save Vicente, was asleep and even he was out. Here at last, she had a fragment of peace she could claim for herself.

Unfortunately, what should have been a pleasant little escape was marred by the fact she hadn't slept more than six hours in the last week and that certainly hadn't been all in one go.

Everyone who had participated in Lucien's death, save herself, had died. She was the only one left. The Night Mother had spared her only to fulfill a purpose and now she feared she'd not only outlived her usefulness, but been replaced as well.

It was only a matter of time before she found herself staring up into the cold dead eyes of Sithis' wrath— a fate she feared worse than death. Those found… unworthy of the Dread Father's attention did not earn a peaceful rest.

Arquen took a deep breath and cradled her head in her arms. Such a pity that wasn't her only problem.

No, the real problem at hand was her… replacement.

Lucien Lachance.

Traitor, however unproven.

What she needed was to figure out what Lachance had promised the Listener and prove him a liar. _Make_ him a liar if necessary. She needed the entire hand to agree before she could take Lucien down and that, unfortunately, included the Listener.

She needed a plan. A sprawling, uncomplicated, infallible plan. And functioning on an hour's sleep, she very much doubted she was about to create one just now.

Brilliant.

Arquen gave up. Slipping from her seat at the table, she curled into a bedroll and slept.

* * *

Lucien stared in the mirror, feeling like a complete and total idiot. His hair looked a _mess_. Longer bits had curled and fluffed around each other, plastered down in places and vertical in others, while every strand shorter than two inches was sticking straight _out_.

Had anyone been awake to see it, Lucien would have been mortified.  
Mostly because the only thing he could liken it to at the moment was the mane of a rabid Khajiit kitten.

He could _not_ be seen in public like this. Strange though that what bothered him more was the fact Samwane had already seen it.

_So he saw you looking human. There are worse things. Being tortured by the Black Hand, for instance._

Lucien closed his eyes. That was _not_ something he wanted to think about. Best simply to concentrate on the task at hand. Filling Ocheeva's basin with tepid water, Lucien set about working the worst of the filth from his hair.

* * *

Arquen woke shivering. The temperature had dropped past freezing in the training room while she was sleeping. Which meant the eyes she felt on the back of her neck were quite real. Quietly, and without opening her eyes, she breathed the incantation of a spell and with a single, powerful jolt, spun up and slammed it into the shadow looming above her.

It barely moved. And Arquen found herself staring into the cold, dead eyes of a creature that no longer retained any scrap of humanity it may once have possessed. But it smiled down at her, a mirthless, fearsome void in the center of its face, and reached forward.

Panicked, her control tenuous at best, Arquen attacked.

* * *

Lucien moved to pick up the knife and stopped. Outside, he could hear Arquen screaming, spitting curses in a voice made frail with fear. Sam, he knew, hadn't slept in ages, but this was far too good a show to pass up.

"Samwane," he murmured, flicking his hood into place. "Sam, wake up."

An odd jolt in the pit of his stomach and Lucien frowned, leaning down to put a hand to his shoulder.

"_Sam_."

A second later Lucien was on his ass in the middle of the floor, frozen stiff, Sam standing with his back to the bed, still half wild from the backlash of a broken dream.

A long moment passed, Arquen's screaming outside doing something to break him from his reverie.

* * *

_Full body paralysis. He'd laughed when the spell hit home, watching Lucien rock backwards and crash to the ground._

_"How's that for incapable, you smirking son of a bitch," he'd spat, towering over him. "Capable enough to _kill_ you, apparently. Maybe next time you'll think first, heh?"_

_There was a snarl of rage passing across Lucien's face, made incredibly slow by the paralysis, but there nonetheless._

_"I'm stronger than you think, Lucien," he'd murmured, pacing across the room. "Try and remember that, would—"_

_He never got to finish. Lucien broke from the spell and rolled to his feet, a whirlwind shrieking from his fingertips. Sam tried to dodge, failed, and was thrown back against the wall._

_A moment later Lucien was on him, hand clenched around his neck, picking him up only to slam him back against the wall._

_"Should have killed me when you had the chance, Silencer," he hissed, teeth clenched, before he threw him away, watching him arc painfully to the ground before landing a series of ringing blows to his face. "Because I will _destroy_ you."_

_Sam tried to defend himself, tried to lash back with a series of spells, but Lucien reflected every one back at him, each with a resounding blow, until he was burned and bleeding, poison seeping from more wounds than he could easily count._

_Somewhere along the line, he'd passed out, and woken to find Lucien towering above him, with that look on his face that seemed something like a fire half put out._

_"You _ever_ try that again, and I will tear you limb from limb," and then he had pulled away, even steps fading off into the darkness, mingling with the sound of a metal grate rising on rusty gears. "Consider yourself extremely lucky. I never give second chances."_

* * *

"Oh, shit," Sam whispered. And when that failed to help, repeated it.

He hadn't meant to. It'd been a complete and total accident. In his dream, Mehrunes Dagon was bearing down, Martin was nowhere in sight and Ocato had already fallen some distance back. He hadn't meant to, but Lucien always kept a promise.

Even weakened as he was by his death, he was more than capable of making good on that threat. What he lacked in sheer power, he made up for in ruthlessness and cunning. No doubt he'd be in his element here. Sam didn't doubt there were a hundred secret passageways he didn't know of, a hundred hidden caches built into the walls. But this was Lucien's sanctuary. He'd know _everything._

That wasn't the worst of it either. No, what really terrified him was the fact that he could _feel_ something pulling him towards Lucien. While he'd slept, he'd heard the man's voice, his _thoughts_. Just seeing the man lying there, awkwardly frozen, was stabbing daggers through him.

He wanted him, needed him, _craved_ him for all he was worth. It was more than the simple infatuation that had driven him to patch Lucien back together. This bordered on obsession, addiction.

Sam realized, in that instant, just what he'd done to pull Lucien back.

Swearing again he darted for his pack, casting the spell again to cover his escape. He was damned already, after all. Two minutes longer wasn't going to hurt.

He had to go. A minute longer and Lucien was going to have more than just rank to lord over him.

* * *

Vicente had just set foot inside the sanctuary when a panicked black blur barreled into him, sending them both into a sprawl of limbs. Some distance off, he could hear the sounds of a fight and a soft cheering, like a silver whisper on the wind.

"Sam?" he frowned, disentangling himself from the boy's pack. "Where are you going?"

"Sorry, no time," Sam hissed back and flew up the ladder.

Vicente's frown deepened, watching his retreat. Sam had killed more people than he could properly remember. He'd waded into Oblivion itself countless time and even helped to defeat Mehrunes Dagon himself. He was _not_, by any means, a coward. Vicente very much doubted that facing the Wrath of Sithis would faze the boy, which ruled out the vicious screaming in the next room.

But not the furious Speaker currently storming towards him.

"Hello, Lucien," he said pleasantly, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "I'm surprised you are not watching the fight."

"Where is he?" he snarled, eyeing the ladder. "I'm going to _kill_ him."

"No, actually, you're not." That smile grew just a little larger and twice as foreboding. "Lucien, why don't we have a word in private?"

"This is none of your business, Valtieri. _Where_ _did_ _he_ _go_?"

"Didn't say, actually," Vicente said, deftly stepping between Lucien and his escape. "But do you happen to remember the conversation we had not so long ago wherein I mentioned my loyalty resting first and foremost with the Listener?"

"You stepped _down_." Slowly, Lucien smirked, squaring his shoulders in readiness for a fight. "And so, I outrank you. Move aside."

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, Lachance. You lost your rank when you died, and as far as I hear, Sam hasn't yet gotten around to reinstating you. A pity."

Lucien's temper, already tenuous, snapped.

"I am a Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood and you will _stand aside!_"

Vicente chuckled, a dark and sinister sound that matched perfectly the dark gleam in his eyes.

"My apologies. I cannot."

And before Lucien could react, he had lunged forward, teeth snapping into the artery of his throat with murderous precision. Moments of useless struggling passed before Lucien slumped boneless into Vicente's arms.

Bloodstained, appetite merely whetted after months without blood, Vicente smiled, an animal in his eyes.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I don't own Elder Scrolls.

Summary: Without him, they'd be nothing. Without them, he would still be alive. They should have known better. Lucien does not pick his silencers idly.

Author's Note: Well, we seem to be moving along quite nicely.

* * *

"Stop it," Sam snapped, pulling Shadowmare back on the road for the fourth time. "I know it's stupid, but I am not turning around."

She whinnied, and tossed her head to better glare at him from one blood red eye, a sure sign he was about to be bucked off.

"_No_. Don't you dare or I will send you back to Lucien and take to riding one of those Imperial Legion stallions you keep eyeing."

She grunted and put her head down, but blessedly, moved forward. Sam sighed.

"I must be going crazy, talking to a horse."

And that was, apparently, all the opportunity she needed, as a moment later Sam found himself face first in a very uncomfortable bush.

"Lovely. Bloody brilliant," he muttered, spitting out leaves. "My day just couldn't get better."

"A hundred gold or your life," grunted a voice behind him, slightly masked by the sound of a weapon being drawn.

Sam closed his eyes.

_Why, Sithis? Why today?_

"You know, if you didn't mumble quite so much, you'd probably make more money," he said, turning to face an orc twice his size.

"Did I ask for talk, tree rat? Two hundred gold or you can kiss your head goodbye."

Sam sighed, and swept a strand of hair from his eyes, wondering where an orc with pigtails got off threatening people.

_Maybe he doesn't know he has them…_

"Look, I'm having a really shit day, and I really don't feel like fighting. If you could just—"

"_Fighting?"_ The orc roared with laughter, showing a mouthful of yellow, ill kept teeth. "You? Fight? Oh, that's a good one. Don't even come up t' my armpit an' he thinks he can fight. You just made my day, little man!"

Sam smiled and lit him on fire.

* * *

Vicente checked Lucien's pulse for the third time, making sure it hadn't weakened in the time it took him to slip past Arquen's raging battle and into the Listener's quarters. Had his bloodlust not awakened quite so fiercely, he may have found it unnerving to watch the ghosts of his former brothers and sisters cheering on the Wrath of Sithis as it attempted to cleave off Arquen's head. The shade of what was formerly Antoinetta Marie was having a ball, tripping and pushing the Speaker at every opportunity. It was her laughter he heard above the rest, the one that carried belllike down the hallways.

But he didn't have time to stop and watch. He had less than an hour before the sun rose and if he didn't feed soon he was going to rip the next living soul apart. Sithis knew it had been a test of will pulling away from Lucien.

_Sweet blood for a murderer…_

As it was, he rather had a taste for a member of the guard tonight.

Swift and feral, bloodshot eyes almost glowing, Vicente leapt up the ladder and into the fast approaching dawn.

* * *

"You could have jumped in any time, you know." Sam glared at his horse, carefully stepping around the foul-smelling body of a rather charred orc. "How much eaiser would it have been on both of us if you'd just smashed him like you did the last one?"

If horses could smirk, she was smirking.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm not going back to Cheydinhal," he said, jumping into the saddle and urdging her forward.

Shadowmare didn't move.

"Oh, alright. Very funny. What? If you're not going to Cheydinhal, I'm not going to the Imperial City, is that it?"

She snorted, throwing her head in a gesture eerily reminicent to a nod.

"Well we can go to Cheydinhal as soon as I see Ocato. Now move."

She didn't. Sam sighed, resting his face in her mane.

"I _know_ you don't like Ocato. _You_ don't have to so much as look at him. You get to stay in the stables. And if you're lucky, the foresters will have come in for a drink and left their mounts there."

She whinned.

"Yes, I know it's seven in the morning!" he snapped. "They've been out all night, then, and are going home to bed."

She tossed her head and stamped. Sam tried once more to move her and failing that, jumped down.

"Fine. You win."

There was no doubt about it, she looked _smug_. Sam glared, looking her in the eye.

"But I am _not_ going back to Cheydinhal."

With a snort, she pranced around him until she was facing the way they'd come and began to chew at his collar.

"No," he said and swatted her off. "You can go back to Cheydinhal, Fort Farragut or wherever it is you get off to when I'm not looking. I have to see Ocato."

The chewing resumed, more insistant now. Sam sighed, glanced around for a sign and set off towards the Imperial City. Behind him, Shadowmare _laughed_ and galloped away at full speed.

"Damn you, Lucien," he muttered, trudging down the path. "Gift from the Dark Brotherhood, my ass. You couldn't handle her, could you? Try to tell me she never ran down foresters with you. Bullshit."

Down the path, an associate of the orc popped his filthy head around the corner of an old ruin before springing out into the path.

"A hundred gold, or—" was as far as he got before the spell Sam had sent careening lazily through the air hit home with a dull _thunk-hissss_.

"I bet you had a great bloody laugh about that, you fetcher," he continued without pause. "I'm just a never ending source of amusement for you. Hell, for everyone."

He paused, dodging a bit of falling masonry that had been jarred loose by the bandit's unhappy collision with the wall behind him.

"I bet Martin's up there just laughing his ass off," and here he paused again to mimick Martin's accent. "Murderer? By the nine, he's frightened of _scamps_."

Sam found another sign post for the Imperial City and kicked it for good measure.

"Ocato too. At least he's decent enough not to hide it. Thinks it's bloody hilarious the Champion of Cyrodill comes up to his navel." Sam growled. "I am not _short_," he muttered, kicking viciously at a rock in his path. "Everyone else is too damn _tall_."

Off in the distance, he heard a startled cry from a Legion Forester as Shadowmare caught up with his horse. Sam snorted.

"Serves you right."

And continued on his way.

* * *

Lucien woke alone to silence and an unlocked door. He remembered a mad light in Vicente's eyes, just before he attacked, and the absolute fury that had come with his inability to resist.

_Bloody vampiric strength._

He hadn't the faintest idea what time it was though, and in his anger at Sam, he'd completely missed Arquen's fight with the Wrath of Sithis. A pity, really, but just at the moment it was slightly more important he find the boy.

Once the rage at being taken off guard had subsided, he realized it was probably more his fault than the boy's. That wasn't the first time Sam had shot off a spell at having been woke up abruptly. There was more than a few singes on Farragut's tapestries to prove it.

What really worried him was Vicente's comment that he had not yet been reinstated. He'd simply assumed…

_Once a Speaker, always a Speaker._

And that was increadibly untrue. But in his case? Nothing like it had ever happened before. Shouldn't life function as though he had never been dead?

But it didn't matter. It was best to manage things in a way that made everyone happy. It tended to save a great deal of hardship later on.

Lucien sighed and rolled out of bed. He had yet to fix the mess Bellamont had made of his hair, and there was no way he could risk his hood slipping off before it was _perfect_. Smiling slighty when he saw Sam hadn't fled with his knife as well, Lucien picked it up from the floor and made his way back to the mirror.

He had all the time in the world.

* * *

Sam always entered the Imperial City through the Talos Plaza entrance. Today was no exception. But today he loathed and despised every _inch_ of the big hill.

"Could have gone through the Waterfront. Would have made my life a hell of a lot eaiser. But no." He pursed his lips as he staggered slightly on a pocket of loose gravel. "This is entirely your fault, Martin," he grumbled. "I'm not sure exactly _how_, but it is."

Finally, at long last, he reached the gates and slipped inside, making his way for the Imperial Palace. Halfway there, he caught site of Hieronymus Lex flying down the street after someone. Whoever it was, was both increadibly fast and strangely blurry.

Curiousity peaked, Sam gave chase.

* * *

Yes, I am an Antoinetta Marie fan. I don't know why everyone hates her. She was always very nice to me… Vicente has a right to complain though. XD 


	12. Chapter Twelve

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: I am incredibly happy with where this is going.

* * *

Halfway through the Elven Gardens district, Sam caught up. This chase, he realized, had been going on for quite awhile and there was only so long Hieronymus could keep running in full armor. 

"Mind if I cut in?" he asked, laughing at the look on the guard's face.

"What can you do?" he was very careful not to let his voice heave with the force of his breathing.

Sam grinned.

"Glad you should ask."

He pulled ahead of Hieronymus, and let loose a spell. It wasn't paralysis, but the effect was similar. From fifty yards away, they watched as the notorious Gray Fox crashed to the ground…

And then got right back up.

"Aw, _bugger_," Sam spat.

From his right, Hieronymus laughed.

"You think I haven't tried that? Used to keep two battle mages on at all times. You can keep knocking him over, but damned if you can knock him—" suddenly, he grinned. "Do it again."

"Do what? The spell?" Sam asked, breath heaving. "It's useless, he's reflecting."

"Doesn't matter. Knock him down."

And then Lex put on a new burst of speed, casting fireballs of his own at the back of the man's heels in hopes of pushing him over before he could reach the Market District and lose them in the crowds. Up ahead, the man swore, spitting curses over his shoulder, still yards ahead.

It was then Sam realized he was not so much _blurry_ as he was cloaked entirely in gray.

"Ah," he gasped, feeling like an idiot. "That's who you're chasing then."

And then, summoning up as much power as he could manage given the time restraints of the quickly approaching Market District, shot off Lucien's whirlwind spell.

Unfortunately, he hadn't expected that whirlwinds cannot be properly aimed.

* * *

He didn't look like himself at all, Lucien realized, staring in the mirror. He'd cut his hair as long as he could under the circumstances, but in the end he looked, well… _official_. If his hair were a little lighter, he could probably give Hieronymus Lex a run for his money. 

Which could be a good thing under the right circumstances, but it didn't mean he had to like it. Nothing to be done for it though He needed to find Sam. Now, at least, he could keep his hood down. With his hair this hideous, he wasn't likely to be recognized.

* * *

Sweeping out of the Listener's quarters, he found Arquen not far off, slumped against the wall, a puddle of thin silk sitting at her foot. She'd won, it seemed, and as he drew closer he realized that unfortunately, she was still breathing. 

A pity. It would have been very satisfying to leave her corpse in the middle of town for the crows to peck at. Lucien smiled, amused at the thought of crows picking out _her_ eyes, and made his way up through the house. It was all well and good to use the well when no one was looking, but a litany of people climbing out in full daylight was bound to catch someone's attention.

* * *

Hieronymus swore, stopping just inside the door of the Market District. The crowds today were immense, and there was no way they were about to find him now. Especially if he'd taken off the cowl. 

"Sorry about that," Sam murmured, sheepishly. "I'll mind my own business next time, eh?"

Hieronymus smiled and shook his head, settling a broad hand across his shoulder.

"He was gone as soon as he hit those doors, Samwane. No worries." He couldn't help but turn back to scan the crowds though. "To be honest, that's as close as I've ever gotten to him. He taunts me. Keeps out of sight of the other guards, makes _me_ look like the madman." He laughed, a short, vaguely bitter little bark. "Glad to have a witness this time, at least. I'll be damned before they call the Champion of Cyrodill a mad man."

"Oh, they do." Sam smiled. "Just not around _you_. Anyway, I must be off. Have to see Ocato."

"Ah," Hieronymus said, shooting him an odd look. "Good luck with that."

Sam frowned and turned back, but by then, Hieronymus was already through the doors.

* * *

Lucien pushed open the doors to Sam's house, with a smug little smirk, praying to Sithis the boy was sleeping. The paralysis spell may not have been his fault exactly, but he intended to get his own, subtle revenge. 

Smirk turning into a grin by the time he'd mounted the stairs, Lucien turned the corner into the boy's room and was met by nothing but stagnant air. Abruptly, the smile fell away and he frowned, striding from the house, barely remembering to lock it behind him.

He hadn't expected the boy to _leave_. To hide, yes. To fight on his own territory, yes. But to _flee_? It was incredibly uncharacteristic of him.

Shouldering past a number of guards and ill placed people who managed to put themselves in his way, he made his way out to the stables.

Shadowmare was missing. A sort of dull panic seized him, stabbing just under his breastbone and in the pit of his stomach.

And then he saw her— a black shape on the horizon, trotting towards him with that deviously _smug_ look, her saddle missing. Lucien sighed and swiped a hand through his hair, wincing when it didn't feel the way it should.

"What did you do with him?" he snapped, when the horse had finally ambled toward him.

If horses could smirk…

Gritting his teeth, Lucien swung up onto her back.

"Find him. _Now_."

* * *

Sam pushed open the doors to the Imperial Palace, wondering what exactly Hieronymus had meant by _good luck_. Before he could ponder any more on it however, one of the guards darted forward to catch the door, making a frantic sign for silence. 

"Welcome to the Imperial Palace," the guard whispered. "If I were you, I'd cone back tomorrow."

"What? Why?" Sam turned, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"Ocato," came a simultaneous whisper from either side.

Sam laughed and was immediately hushed.

"It's not a good day to be caught talking," said the first guard. "Ocato's… intensely aggravated."

"Bad day?" he asked, the smile slipping away.

"If only that were _it_," hissed the guard to his left. "Try a bad week, an uninvited count or three and a migraine."

So that's what Hieronymus meant by _good luck_.

"Who's he tossed out the window this time?"

The guard to his right sniggered.

"Heard about that, did you?"

Sam grinned.

"I wasthere."

"Ah," this from the left. "Well, no one today, so far as we can tell. But half the guards have been fired, and Evangeline's gone."

"She left in a pisser. Wouldn't say if Ocato knew she was leaving."

"Best not to question an angry battle mage, you know."

Sam frowned.

"Why would he dismiss his own guard?"

Stifled laughter from the wings.

"She probably _breathed_," said the man on his right. "I'd come back tomorrow, if I were you."

"Can't." Sam grinned at the two of them before glancing at the door. "Wish me luck. Maybe I'll be the lucky sod who gets thrown out a window today."

"G'luck," said one.

"Glad it's not me," muttered the other.

And laughing to himself, Sam pushed open the council doors.

* * *

Shadowmare was at her most difficult today. Lucien cursed and cajoled for all he was worth but the stupid beast would go no faster than a slow, ambling stroll. It was getting to the point that _crawling_ to the Imperial City would be faster than this wretched beast would move. 

"The fastest horse in the whole of Cyrodill, reduced to a whoring old mare. Pathetic," he hissed, knowing full well he'd do best not to get down just now or risk being trampled.

Shadowmare snorted and tossed her head. Lucien knew, if she had the capability, she would have growled.

"Well, what other excuse is there for your pining after every Legion horse we pass? Oh, don't think I haven't noticed. You've lost your charms. It's quite obvious why none of them will take a second look at you."

She bucked then, but not only was Lucien used to her tricks, he was capable of crushing a man's skull between his legs. From that point, holding on was simply a matter of balance.

"Have you quite done?" he asked once she'd stopped. "I do have somewhere to _be_, you know."

But he should have known better than to think he'd out maneuvered her. Hell-spawn of a horse that she was, she simply lay down in the middle of the road.

And rolled over.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Don't read this. I'm serious. Really. Don't read it. Instead, read Pheonicia's Twist of Fate. It's amazing.

* * *

"Ocato?" he was very careful to keep his voice low and deep, an easy timbre that wouldn't grate on Ocato's headache. "Still alive?"

"You're lucky," came the muffled reply from the stone table. "I was about to throw you through the window."

Sam laughed, coming around the chair to find Ocato sitting with his face pressed in the crook of an elbow, other arm covering his head in an attempt to block out the light and noise.

"Damn. Did I miss my chance?" he asked, picking papers out of his way as he swung up to sit on the table.

Ocato only groaned and peered out at him from the gap between his arms.

"Do you have a reason for bothering me, or may I return to work?"

"What work? Pretending you don't exist?"

"Yes." The gap closed and Ocato turned his head. "It's very complicated and I should like if you were to leave me to it."

Sam smiled, slid down from the table and set about sorting Ocato's papers.

"Those are official reports, you know," Ocato announced without moving. "I'm afraid I cannot allow you to view them."

He made a low, noncommittal noise of agreement in the back of his throat, never ceasing in his collection of official reports.

"Well, I've warned you," Ocato said, still without moving. "It's up to the guards now."

"I think you've sacked everyone but the two outside and they're terrified of you."

"Good," he snapped, still muffled. "Perhaps they'll think twice before letting irritating Champions in to bother me." There was a short pause. "Or not."

Laughing, Sam finished his collection of papers and set Ocato's inkwell back in its niche before attempting to rouse the man himself.

"Why don't you go up to bed? You're obviously in no condition to work today."

"I can't. And I _am_ working. Very important business to attend to, in fact. See, I've made notes." An arm unfolded and thrust a crumpled bit of paper in Sam's direction. As soon as it had been removed, it curled in on itself again, looking as though it had never moved in the first place.

Sam laughed, looking down at the broken scrawling.

* * *

_Help! __Narina Carvain thrusting self in personal space. Legitimate escuse to summon guards? Forgot. Have no guards as Evangeline is very angry. Would Bruma remove collective self from empire if countess happened to thrust self through large window? _

_**ARGH!** _

_If countess neglects to remove self soon, empire will need new High Chancellor as head will have exploded. V. messy. Not recommended. _

* * *

"I take it you had to look as though you were listening?" Sam offered.

There was a movement from the heap of what was recently Ocato that may have been a nod.

"Did she come by this morning?"

Another shuffling of various fabrics.

"Have you been like this all week?"

"Progressively."

"Have you _slept_ at all?"

A shuffling of fabric in the opposite direction.

"Empire does not run itself, unfortunately enough."

"It can run itself today. Come along."

"Can't. Working."

"No, you are _not_ working. You have just been captured by a disgruntled citizen of the empire."

"Thank the Nine." Ocato finally emerged from his half fetal position, a soft, barely tangible smile the most he could manage. "Your demands?"

Sam laughed, pretending not to notice how absolutely _wretched_ Ocato looked.

"That you come with me. Com'on. Up with you."

"Alright. Under the circumstances, I'll even your grant access into the upper floors necessary."

Sniggering, Sam picked up the stack of papers, walking with him as they left the room together.

"Wouldn't be the first time I've been in your quarters."

Ocato cocked an eyebrow and looked down at him.

"Oh?"

"I sneak up there every so often and tie all your things together."

Stopping dead, Ocato turned to look at him.

"That was _you_?"

If nods could be smug, Sam's was the epitome.

"I blamed Evangeline for that." Ocato frowned and caught up within a few short strides. "How did you manage to sneak past her, anyway?"

Sam grinned, a perfect, mischievous little imp, and promptly disappeared.

* * *

Lucien found himself suddenly in much the same position as Sam had been. It was absolutely useless trying to force that horse into something she did not want to do. He'd _hoped_ Sam would be able to reign her in, and in the event of his failure, Lucien could then lord his superiority over him.

Never mind the fact that once that horse got something stuck in her head, it was over. Whatever it was she wanted, she was getting.

He sighed, pushing his way through the trees that lined the side of the road. If she'd thrown him, she'd probably aim for something soft.

_Sithis has a very odd sense of humor. Either that, or the horse is possessed. _

Lucien stopped suddenly, his boot striking against something with a decidedly leather _thud_. Bending down to pick it up, he realized it was Shadowmere's saddle.

Closing his eyes, he took a very deep breath and leaned against a tree.

Sam was fine. He'd not been thrown, or assaulted. He'd been irritated past all tolerance and left the horse to her own devices. Devices which often entailed her assaulting Legion horses.

Putting two fingers to his mouth, Lucien blew a long, low whistle and sat down to wait.

* * *

Sam put out the last light in Ocato's quarters after only minimal jumping and fussing, before he came to sit on the edge of the bed opposite the High Chancellor, who happened to be clutching an entirely medicinal brandy.

"This is pathetic," Ocato said at length, indicating his brandy. "It's not even _noon_ and I've given up."

Despite this, he made no attempts to set the glass down.

"Yes, well, you've been at it for more than a week. Was Carvain really that bad?" Sam asked the last while attempting to see if he could reach both ends of the bed.

"Wretched. Absolutly horrible. She's desperate and she's set her sights on _me_."

Stretched as far as he could go, Sam was still three feet from ever touching the bottom.

"Why would she do that?" Sam frowned. "That seems so…"

"Pointless? Awkward? Yes, I had realized, thank you." A moment later, Ocato was groping for the bottle. "She hasn't said it in so many words but she believes that it would be beneficial if I were to perminiantly secure Bruma's interests, so to speak."

"Sounds like she's plotting something."

"Oh, she is," Ocato smiled, looking at him.

"Have you figured out _what_ yet?"

He shrugged.

"I think it has something to do with you."

Sam stopped trying to see if he could reach Ocato's side of the bed without moving and turned to face him.

"With _me_? But I don't even live in Bruma."

"She's under the impression that you're housing at Cloud Ruler Temple, which is technically somewhat under her domain."

"Well, yes, I keep a few things there, but I don't _live_ there. And anyway, why does living in Bruma make me her property?"

Ocato laughed.

"She has been implying that if I do not marry her, _you_ will."

"But I don't… elves don't…" he stopped and tried again. "Is she _mad_?"

"Actually?" Ocato smirked over his glass. "She was boasting about the Dracionian Madstone you brought her for her collection. In the heat of your _passion_."

Sam knew one good way to wipe the smirk from Ocato's face.

"What? This one?" he asked, pulling the Madstone up from the collar of his shirt.

* * *

Lucien glared at the horse as she ambled towards him. Rising from his increadibly uncomfortable seat at the foot of the tree, he grabbed her bridle and looked her dead in the eyes.

"I am through playing games with you, woman." This because he rather suspected there was a woman trapped inside there. "You are going to take me to Sam _now_, or I am going to send you back to Sithis in the most painful way you could ever imagine."

The horse snorted, glared at him, and finally, reluctantly, bowed.

Lucien smirked.

_Victory is mine._


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Would anyone be interested in reading about Eldamil?

Chapter Fourteen: In which Ocato realizes Sam is a thief, can't bring himself to care overmuch and we _finally_ get down to business.

* * *

The Draconian Madstone glittered without aid of any light, casting an odd glow in the space between them. Ocato leaned back into the pile of pillows behind him, and laughed.

"Thief," he accused without any real venom, draining the last of his glass and setting it aside.

Sam glared.

"She didn't pay me. She sent me trudging through Pale Pass and back and didn't have the decency to _pay_ me!"

"So you stole it?"

"I took back what was mine," he said, glaring. "You know, I didn't come here to be called a thief."

"I rather suspect you didn't come to put the High Chancellor to bed either." He smiled. "But as you haven't been gracious enough to tell me why you _have_ come…"

Sam looked away, one hand snaking its way back over the odd ache in the pit of his stomach.

"I think I've done something very stupid."

"You think?" Ocato frowned. This did not bode well. "What's happened?"

"You've heard stories from the Battle of Bruma, haven't you?"

Leaning back, the chancellor frowned.

"There were no causalities. The men considered it the gods' work."

Sam met his eyes though the odd glow of the Madstone.

"It was _my_ work, actually."

Ocato's frown deepened. He wasn't sure where this was going, but it did not bode well.

"You are a healer?"

"No. A sort of Necromancer, actually."

Ocato laughed.

"I rather think the men would have noticed once their arms fell off that something wasn't entirely right."

"Which is why I say _sort of_." He looked down at his hands. "It's a sort of… gift. I can… call back the dead."

Ocato was silent for a long moment before finally, he spoke.

"I rather suspect there's a misplaced Dunmer somewhere in your family tree. Have you considered it?"

* * *

Lucien frowned as they circled the Imperial City, apparently making their way for the stables.

"You do realize if I find you've dragged me here for the usual reason, I will strangle you with your own entrails."

Shadowmare ignored him and kept on at a full gallop.

Apparently, this was it. Though why Sam had gone to the Imperial City was beyond him. With that do-gooder idiot Hieronymus Lex running around, however distracted by the Gray Fox, the Imperial City was not the safest place for a murderer. He couldn't count how many brothers and sisters had met their fate here. For Sam to enter the city willingly…

But then again, it was possible he simply didn't _know_. He wasn't used to being told where he could and could not go and so he ignored all warnings.

_You forget he's the Champion of Cyrodill now. _He_ can go where he likes. _

Lucien frowned.

It was true, they'd be less likely to attack their Champion. In fact, they'd probably assume he had a reason for murdering a man if they were to catch him. It was possible they'd even let him go. Before they'd realized the purification of Cheydinhal had been a useless waste, Sam had spoken incessantly of Hieronymus. And, he realized, Ocato.

Chances were, he'd be following one or the other. And if Lucien were a gambling sort of fellow… well, he'd probably put his money on Ocato.

Then, that was probably wistful thinking. Were he to attack Hieronymus, he'd have his work cut out for him. But the aging High Chancellor?

Lucien smiled as Shadowmare stopped outside the Talos Plaza district.

If he were right, today was about to get very interesting.

* * *

Sam glared at Ocato, the chancellor with an odd twist to his lips that betrayed his stifled laugh.

"You know that's not the problem."

"My apologies. I've had a horrible week and the filter that keeps me from saying ridiculous things broke yesterday. You'd probably do best to ignore me."

Sam sighed and looked down at his hands again. He had only the faintest inkling of what had happened to him and it was _not good_. It didn't help that currently, Ocato was in the midst of the worst week in his life and was essentially about to be out of commission for quite awhile.

The stunning insights and remarkably clear advice he had _hoped_ to receive were apparently, not about to happen.

"You could, however, inform the contents of my room as to your actual problem, if you liked. This glass, for instance," he said, filling a second glass full of brandy before handing it to Sam, "is often very good at giving advice."

Sam downed it in a single, clean gulp before looking up.

"Not sure what it said, to be honest."

Ocato smiled.

"I'm certain I heard _have another_."

* * *

Getting into the Imperial Palace was disappointingly easy. The guards, relaxed now that someone had herded Ocato off to his chambers, simply welcomed him inside with the same warning as ever.

And Lucien had nodded politely, opened up the council chamber doors and slipped into his shadows. It was, as he realized some time later, a completely useless precaution. The guards had gone back to their card game shortly after he entered, and his sudden Chameleon spell went entirely unnoticed.

That was the least of his problems now, however, as he found himself now in a hallway _packed_ with guards. Pressed as far into a niche in the wall as he possibly could, he kept low, making sure his shadows were firmly in place.

He had, perhaps, underestimated Ocato's guards just a little.

* * *

"Well, I must say that was a completely idiotic thing to do, Sam." Ocato took the bottle from him, to pour himself another glass. "You could have been killed. Or dragged under by the Guardians."

"There are no fetching Guardians," Sam growled. "I've never seen one in my gods damned life and I've been doing this for… for ages," he finished, realizing he'd drunken rather more than he'd previously expected.

"Well, I've never seen Mankar Camoran," Ocato stated, sounding irritatingly logical. "And obviously, as you killed him, he exists."

"Exist_ed_. An' I am not entirely to credit. Eldamil, I'll have you know, helped quite a bit."

"That name sounds very familiar." Ocato frowned.

"One of Camoran's lieutenants. The one he _wasn't_ related to."

Ocato was silent for a long moment, that frown firmly in place. Then, suddenly, he looked up.

"Blond, was he? With a funny little curl to the end?"

Sam nodded and reached for the newly opened bottle.

"Yeah. S'him. Pretty bugger." After fighting with the cork a bit, he looked up. "You know him?"

Ocato laughed.

"He was an initiate in the Mages' Guild when I was still Arch Mage. I wouldn't remember him, except he was constantly ranting on about our entire system being obsolete and outdated. Apparently he thought rank should be based on skill rather than odd jobs done for the guild."

"I saw him shoot Ruma Camoran across the room." Sam chuckled. "He sent her flying into Camoran right in the middle of his great, dramatic speech. Funny as all hell, that."

Ocato nodded.

"He was talented. I'll admit that. He challenged me for my title more than once."

"I thought you said he was only an initiate?"

"He was." Ocato laughed. "We don't advance mages for attempting to kill their superiors."

"Ah," Sam said, because it sounded like a good answer, and poured himself another glass.

Logically, he realized he was becoming quite drunk. Unfortunately, it was not something he could bring himself to care about at the moment.

"Is there something that can be done?" he asked, recorking the bottle.

"About what?" Ocato frowned. "You wading into the void for people? No. I rather think that's a matter of poor judgment, Sam."

"No," he glared at the glass in his hand, realizing he hadn't gotten past the point where Eldamil called him a complete and total idiot with nix-hound shit for brains. "This bloke was in too deep, you see. He couldn't get out alone. I sort of had to… well, _grab_ him."

Ocato spun, the glass nearly dropping from his hand.

"You _what_?"

Sheepish, Sam laughed.

"I was sort of hoping you'd understand."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Yayzorz!

* * *

Lucien glanced up upon hearing the bellowing, as did most of the blind monks in the corridor. 

"_WHAT IN THE HELL WERE YOU **THINKING**?"_

There it was again. Considering its projection through the solid stone floor above and likely under him, Lucien rather suspected it was Ocato.

"YOU _IDIOT!_"

Quickly now, using the random bellowing to mask the sound of his footsteps, Lucien ran for the door.

* * *

Ocato glared, pacing the floor of his office in a surprisingly straight line. But then, as he had the advantage of being two foot taller with quite a bit more poundage to him, Sam rather suspected it'd take quite a bit more to get him drunk. 

"I agree with him, you know," Ocato snapped, still glaring. "You _do_ have guar shit for brains."

"Nix-hound." He was a bit drunk, and so couldn't help but point it out.

"It doesn't matter what sort of dung you have rolling through your head, Sam," Ocato rounded on him, an obvious tremor in his shoulders. "Do you have any idea what you've _done_?"

"Not really," he admitted, sinking down into Ocato's desk chair. "Earliest memory is waking up in _your_ prison. I think your boys knocked the sense out of me."

"Oh, bugger all," Ocato murmured, running a hand through his hair and sitting down hard in an over plush chair. "What a mess. As if a dead emperor weren't enough."

As soon as the last word had finished, someone knocked on the door.

"Whatever it is, _it can wait!_" Ocato shouted.

"Unfortunately, Chancellor, I am not a patient man," came the silk and silver tones from outside the door.

"Oh, _piss_," Sam groaned, his head hitting the surface of the desk with a resounding thump. "That's him."

"What?" Ocato frowned, standing.

"That's him. That's the bloke. The one that should be dead, but isn't dead because I've got a funny glowing spot in my stomach. _That's_ _him_."

"Brilliant," Ocato sighed and opened the door. "I suppose you should come in then."

* * *

Arquen woke with a groan; stiff from the position she'd been trapped in for so long. Apparently, she was still alive. 

Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

There was a pile of what looked like sheets at her foot. Picking through them, she prized a knife from the sticky mess, the word _justice _engraved on its hilt.

"Lovely," she muttered and got to her feet. "A knife for the death of a traitor. Marvelous."

As she rounded the corner, heading for the common rooms, she saw Vicente lounging elegantly at the small wooden table in the corner.

He looked strangely different, his cheeks fuller, skin flushed.

_His control broke, _she realized. _He fed. _

And then two thoughts finally hit home, like arrows thudding into the center of her chest.

One, she had been facing, _irritating_ a starving, murderous creature all this time.

And two, she was really safe for the first time.

Vicente smiled languidly at her as she passed.

"Good afternoon, sister. Good to see you awake."

"I thought you slept during the day." Her voice was rough and broken from the force of her earlier screaming.

He only chuckled slightly, returning to his book.

"Only when I have a reason to be abed."

The change, apparently, wasn't reserved to appearance alone. Vicente had fed, slept. He wasn't waging internal war with control or struggling against instinct. For the first time in months he had his full attention at his disposal.

He was a more formidable enemy now than he had ever been before, she understood. And the thought terrified her.

* * *

So this was his competition… Lucien eyed the man as he stepped into the room, keeping the dagger up his sleeve well hidden. Ocato was, in his opinion, a complete idiot. He knew the man wouldn't notice. No, Sam was the real trouble. Especially if he was interested in this one. 

And he had to be, didn't he? Why else would he flee _here_ of all places unless this wretched Altmer had some meaning to him. They had weathered the Oblivion crisis together. It did make sense, in a way. He didn't like it though.

"Lucien, why do you have a knife?" Sam slurred, managing to sound both tired and drunk.

"I always do. I imagine you do as well," this with a look that clearly said _shut up_.

Sam shook his head before dropping it into the crook of his elbow. Truth be told, he wasn't feeling very well. Whatever it was he'd done to catch Lucien's attention in the void left him shaking and weak every time he woke up, and this time the feeling hadn't gone away. Now, with Lucien in such close proximity, he felt literally ill. The room swam, his stomach was tied in a hundred knots and suddenly colors were finding odd places to roost about the room.

"Go away," Sam pleaded, looking up. "Please."

The problem was, there were three different Luciens just at the moment, and unfortunately he'd focused on the wrong one. Ocato was at his side in an instant, the soft glow of his spells curling around the tips of his fingers to stroke along Sam's face.

"What in the hell are you doing?" Lucien growled, lunging forward.

Ocato glared, a cold, calculating light in his eyes.

"I suggest you stand back and rethink the direction of this conversation."

A flick of the wrist and the knife was out, Ocato comparatively unarmed.

"You should learn to watch your tongue, old man," he said, voice low and guttural as he moved forward.

But he had fatally underestimated his opponent. Ocato's eyes flashed, a ball of sheer energy forming in the cup of his left hand. And Lucien realized when they mentioned the Imperial Battlemage, they were not, in fact, referring to Ocato's guard.

He pulled up a shield with energy of his own, but he was an assassin, not a mage. Ocato's spell cut through his defense without a problem, sending him flying back against the wall.

"Oh, I wish you hadn't done that," Sam murmured, though he had only seen half of it, his eyes having decided that displaying all the pretty colors they'd ever borne witness too was far more interesting than the fight at hand.

"He'll come to regret it," Lucien growled, ever the optimist, and launched an attack of his own.

Not at Ocato, but at Samwane.

The logic behind it had been simple. If Ocato cared for Sam, as he suspected, he'd be forced into doing something immensely dangerous to deflect the spell. He'd not had enough time to think of the alternative, or even along the lines of _what if Ocato misses?_

He was not expecting Ocato to diffuse the spell as simply as blowing out a candle and look up with such raw _pain_ in his eyes.

"You idiot," he hissed, pain suddenly giving way into rage. "Do you have _any _idea what you've done?"

"Failed in harming you in the slightest, apparently," Lucien said, taking a wary step backwards.

"You've killed him, you fetcher," his voice was soft, nearly broken. "You've _killed_ him."

"Have you lost your mind, old man?" Lucien spat, though he couldn't help but notice Sam was suddenly unconscious despite the spell never having hit home.

Ocato spat some curse he couldn't make heads or tails of before lifting Sam from his spot slumped at the desk. Warily, Lucien followed him as Ocato made his way into the next room, to settle the Bosmer back into his bed. Sam looked strangely tiny curled in Ocato's bed, dwarfed by its sheer size. He looked frail… broken.

And Lucien knew something was incredibly wrong.

"What's happened?" he asked, setting aside his own pride in hopes of finding a way to fix whatever had befallen his Silencer.

"He's fading," Ocato's voice was thick with anger and an odd, crushing sadness.

"Fading?" Lucien did not like the sound of the word. "Explain."

Ocato turned then, his face hard.

"Sam shouldn't have been able to pull you free of the void. You were far too deep for any living creature to follow. So he, with the help of that _idiot _fetcher Eldamil, _bound_ himself to you to get you out. In effect, he tied his soul to yours. By attacking him, you severed that tie. I hope you're pleased with yourself. He saved your life and you've killed him."

Lucien glared even as Ocato advanced, refusing to be intimidated.

"How in the hell was I supposed to know?"

"By the nine, he's your _mate!" _Ocato spun away suddenly, breathing hard as he paced the room. "I swear I'd kill you if I could."

"You can't?" Lucien took the edge of the bed in Ocato's absence. "I imagine it'd only take a single spell."

"I _can't_ because if I do, Sam loses _any_ chance he has at pulling free of this."

Lucien grinned, a savage, mirthless gesture.

"So there's hope then."

"There's always hope," Ocato growled. "Just see where it gets you."


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Yayzorz!

* * *

"You're an idiot," said an all too familiar voice at his side. "And I stick to that."

"Yes, thank you for the insight," Sam muttered, wondering if it were possible his head had gone missing. "Where am I?"

"Dead." Eldamil swam suddenly into view, cross-legged and to his right, looking rather mundane out of his Mythic Dawn robes. "Or almost dead, anyway."

"You don't have a body anymore. Why do you hover so close to the beginning?"

Eldamil smiled and shrugged, looking oddly unlike himself.

"I'm dead. I can hover wherever I want to now. It's an interesting change, you realize. I've had to clear my every action with Camoran for years."

Slowly, Sam picked himself up, expecting to feel pain and surprised at the nothingness that actually encompassed him.

"Is Camoran _here_?" he asked, looking around at the misty swells. It was strange feeling as though they were in the midst of a large crowd in the same instant they were totally alone.

"I expect so, yes." Eldamil stood. It was not so much a motion as he had been sitting and now he was not— a simple change in perspective. "I haven't seen him, if that's what you're implying. I doubt he'd be too keen on meeting me again."

"If I'm dead," Sam asked, turning. "Where are the gods?"

"If you haven't noticed, this isn't exactly the most comfortable of places. They have a Paradise of their own."

"I saved their bloody empire from being invaded by daedra. I think they'd have a kind word or two for me."

"That would be why I'm here." Eldamil grinned and rocked back on his heels, an oddly _living_ gesture in a place so devoid of anything.

Sam frowned, taking a step backwards and going absolutely nowhere.

"You're here for me?" The thought brought no fear, only a lingering twitch in the back of his mind.

_You can't follow him. You have somewhere else to be. _

"They want a word with you, yes. And me too, I suppose." A look that was almost discomfort crossed his face. "I was told not to come without you."

"By who?"

_I want to go… I want to go… I want to dissolve in the abyss. I'm tired of pulling free. _

Eldamil smiled and it was wicked.

"The Guardians you don't believe in. Follow me." And then, taking his hand, "I don't want to lose you."

_I'm so tired… _

Sam smiled, and followed.

* * *

Ocato had fallen asleep, and though Lucien had no doubt he kept a shield firmly in place, he was grateful for the privacy. Now at least, he could press a hand against the stabbing pain in the pit of his stomach without that bloody elf registering the weakness.

"Sam," he murmured, sweeping the hair from the boy's eyes. "I had no idea you were so… fragile. Frankly, I expected a Silencer of mine to be able to weather far worse than _this_. Besides that, you do realize I was aiming for Ocato."

Sam didn't move. If it weren't for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, Lucien would have assumed the worst already.

"I'm not going to let you die, Samwane. Not yet. You have far too much explaining to do."

* * *

Sam stopped and pulled away from Eldamil, frowning into the sea of souls around them.

"_So… fragile." _

He knew that voice.

"Lucien?" Sam frowned, turning in a wide circle. "That idiot's not dead. I saved him. He's fine."

Eldamil shouldered his way through the crowd, throwing a silvered figure from his way to grab Sam's arm again.

"Don't get distracted," he snapped, coming close. "I can't lose you."

_"I was aiming for Ocato." _

There was something cold in Eldamil's eyes. A sort of flickering in the depths of not quite right pupils. Sam jerked backwards, realization dawning.

He was standing in the midst of a sea of ghosts. Every other figure around him had lost their shape, their boundaries. Their clothing flickered in and out, their hair changed, their faces aged and grew younger as they moved.

And yet the figure in front of him was defined. Solid.

_"I'm not going to let you die, Samwane." _

"Where's Eldamil?" he demanded, fear and anger crashing through the barrier like a wave.

_I'm not dead. I'm **not** dead. **I'm not dead**_

The man before him smiled, playing at confusion.

"What do you mean?"

When he'd seen Eldamil in the drift searching for Lucien, he'd been translucent and only vaguely colored, like a painting sitting out in the rain.

This was _not_ Eldamil.

"Where is he? What have you done to him?"

The thing shrugged.

"Nothing. He's waiting for you."

"I don't believe you," Sam said, edging backwards, wondering if he could fly as fast as he ran.

Another shrug as it drifted between the people.

"For the moment, he's repenting. But the gods _would_ like a word with you."

A man drifted between them, vaguely familiar in his Mythic Dawn robes. Sam grabbed his arm, spun him around to look him in the face before letting him go.

Wrong face. Wrong shoulders. Wrong height.

_"I know you're stronger than this, Sam. Wake up." _

"There's nothing left for you out there," the thing continued, Eldamil's face melting into something entirely different. "He forsook you."

"_Please, tell me you're not sleeping with this old codger." _

"No." Sam glanced around, searching for escape. "Can't you hear him?"

_"I would be mortally offended to find you had." _

It frowned.

"There's nothing to hear. You're dead."

_"And over_ me?_ For Sithis' sake, he must be over five hundred years old."_

"Sithis," Sam whispered, a flicker of a thought flaring. "I need to see Sithis."

If there was one celestial being that would set him free, Sithis was the one. Though it was possible he was rather aggravated with having Lucien taken from him, Sam was positive he'd help. He'd saved the whole of the Dark Brotherhood, after all, when he saved Cyrodill.

But the Guardian only smiled.

"I cannot."

_"Well…I imagine he must have learned a thing or two in that time, though." _

"Why the hell not?"

_"Alright, I can almost see why you would have slept with him." _

"I serve the Nine."

_"But I still intend to put a stop to it immediately." _

Sam glowered, meeting its eyes.

"I serve Sithis."

_"After all, you did go through all the trouble to save my life. Keeling over now before I've had a chance to thank you properly is just bad form, Sam." _

"In the end, it doesn't matter. The Nine wish to speak with you. As their servant, I intend to fulfill that wish."

_"And forgive my ego in saying you do not want to miss my thanking you properly." _

"That's why you're here," Sam said, looking for a crowd thick enough to lose himself in. "To keep Sithis from collecting me."

It shrugged, smiled.

_"I mean it literally when I say people have killed for such an opportunity." _

"One does what one must."

_"Oh, bloody hell. Go back to sleep. You know damn well I wasn't talking to you!" _

Suddenly, Sam knew what he had to do. He stopped clinging to his ideas of _up_ and _down_, and in doing so, dropped through what had, up until now, been the floor.

For a long moment he felt as though he were drowning. The souls packed around him so tightly he could see nothing but a collection of arms and flickering clothing. In the far distances, in a hundred different directions, he could hear Lucien. Immensely irritated, and probably threatening Ocato, but Lucien nonetheless.

Sam forced himself to move as far and as fast as possible before he realized there was no way he could track the sound. It curved and twisted, dancing as it filtered through, and though he could hear Lucien, he couldn't reach him.

"Lucien!" he bellowed, desperately praying something would happen. "Ocato!"

And then something seized him by the scruff of the neck, pulling him around.

"How gratifying would it be, I wonder, if just once, someone were to scream _my _name?"


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: I like cliffhangers. Don't always know what to do with them, but I like them. XD

* * *

"Eldamil?"

It was the real Eldamil this time apparently, as the figure was having a bit of trouble deciding between Mythic Dawn robes and the loose fitting peasant's shirt the Guardian had worn.

"Yes, but quiet. They're looking for me too."

"Why?" he hissed as Eldamil led him through the throng of people.

"Why do you think?" he snorted, glancing back. "I'm a coward."

Sam laughed in wonder and followed after him, keeping low.

"He said you were repenting."

Eldamil shook his head, a rarely seen emotion flickering through his eyes.

"I escaped."

Sam grinned.

"But I thought the pain redeemed you."

"Pain is simple. It's nothing. Those… _things_ know it, too."

Frowning, he caught his arm, forcing Eldamil to meet his eye.

"What did they do to you?"

_Fear_. He'd seen Eldamil broken, desperate, enraged, mournful, sick, but never, even when staring down a deadra twice his size, had he ever seen the elf afraid.

"I don't want to talk about it," he snapped, pulling away. "Just keep close."

* * *

Sam's breathing was slowing. There were times it seemed to stop all together, like a cart rolling down a hill and balancing itself in the valley before the next one. Ocato watched carefully, ready to push as many spells through the kid as he had to. Even Lucien, idiotic fool that he was, had conceded. He simply sat there next to the bed, arms crossed, the shadows falling over his face in a single heavy stripe.

He could have been sleeping for all the more he moved, but Ocato knew better. He was no idiot. Lachance wasn't wearing the right robes, but damned if he didn't know the mark of a killer. It soaked through his speech, his movement, his stride— a deadly, massive pride.

And this was the man Sam had brought back from the dead.

Ocato was beginning to realize exactly how much of a problem he had on his hands. The Champion of Cyrodill freely spent his time in the company of a murderer. And where there was one...

_Silencer_, Lachance had said and it sure as hell hadn't sounded like a friendly insult, or even a pet name. Obviously it was some sort of rank.

Which meant, logically, that not only was the Champion of Cyrodill about to die, but he also happened to be a murderer, skilled thief, mage and adventurer. Oh, the papers would have a field day with this, never mind what the council would do to them _both_ when they found out.

Sam, he decided, was not leaving the Imperial City.

Damned if he were going to play fool for a killer.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Sam whispered, realizing they were deeper into the drift than he'd ever been before.

"Sithis has Guardians of his own," Eldamil whispered back. "His and the others are constantly at war. And if they can use us against each other, they will. They're heartless."

"So were you, I imagine. Slaughtering innocent civilians."

Eldamil winced.

"Look where it got me in the end," he muttered. "This place is worse than Paradise. At least there you knew where you stood. Deadra had emotions. They'd get bored of breaking Camoran's toys eventually. These things are different, they're…"

"Like sadistic shepherds?"

Eldamil laughed, a bitter, broken sound.

"Sadistic shepherds that set sheep aflame to throw over the fence at each other."

"Lovely. I can't wait to die."

"It'll happen soon enough if we don't hurry," Eldamil snapped, dragging him forward. "And even if you _do_, I'll wager they have something pleasant lined up for you. Everyone talks about you here."

"Good things, I hope."

"Not always." Eldamil smirked. "I slaughtered innocents for love of Camoran. _You_ slaughter innocents for money. Which of us is the better man, I wonder?"

Sam smiled, sheepish.

"There was more to it than money."

"Yes, there's that murderer you keep risking your life for. Do you know he's killed nearly everyone he's ever slept with?"

"You don't know that," he snapped, good humor evaporating.

Eldamil shrugged.

"Believe what you like. You don't even know the color of his hair."

Sam frowned.

"It's black."

"Now."

"Now? What's that supposed to mean?"

"How old is he, do you think?" Eldamil asked instead.

"Thirty. Forty, maybe."

"And do you think after thirty years of sneaking about killing people, guards would begin to look out for a tallish man with black hair and dark eyes?"

"I really doubt—"

"Do you know he's had his nose broken twice before?" Eldamil asked and stopped, turning to face him. "Once because he goaded the wrong person into a fight. Twice because he'd been spotted killing a Legion member and needed a way to disappear."

"So he broke his nose?" Sam laughed, arching an eyebrow. "I doubt he would stoop to that."

Eldamil shrugged and continued on.

"Broke his nose, starved himself, changed his hair, and his eyes. Looked like a whole new person when he'd finished."

"If you're trying to make a point, you've made it. But I don't believe you."

Eldamil shrugged.

"You do what you have to." And then, "How old do you think I am? Do you think I've never lied about my name? That my hair is always ice blond?" he glanced back. "Are you that naïve?"

Sam was silent, Eldamil's words ringing through his head.

He was right. And chances were, being dead, he had the advantage of knowing everything life had blinded him to. It was possible that Eldamil had known Lucien. Murderers are not so much of a different breed. They may have even worked together— a commissioned killing when Mythic Dawn needed to look innocent, both the Black Hand and Mythic Dawn sending their best.

Eldamil could have been Nerastarel for all he knew, filling the house with spirits of the dead, knowing they would destroy every trace of him. And Lucien…

Lucien could have been a hundred different people. He was skilled in Illusion, in his near constant chameleon. He had to know other spells— spells to make him seem taller, elfish, rugged, even orc-like if the occasion demanded it.

Honestly, he knew nothing of the man. What he saw was only what Lucien _wanted_ him to see.

And he'd fallen for it. Like every other Silencer of Lucien's. Like every other idiotic fool who'd ever climbed into bed with him. Only he'd topped them all. Whereas the others had only killed for Lucien, he'd defied the laws of nature, he waded through death, he'd _died for him_.

And for all he knew, it could have been for a Luc Bellamont as easily as a Lucien Lachance…

* * *

"He moved," Lucien said, all four legs of the chair suddenly flat on the ground.

"Of course he moved," Ocato snapped, glancing up from his book only to mark Lucien's movement. "He's settling in."

"He's not going to die."

"Just because he happened to twitch—"

"I _know_ him, you daft old fool. He's not going to die."

"—does not mean that he's alive in any tangible way."

"Have you ever seen a corpse twitch?" Lucien growled, scowling.

"Yes," Ocato answered smoothly, never once looking up from his book.

"I doubt that, Chancellor."

"High Chancellor, actually," he said, the epitome of boredom. "I know it's a bit much for a person of your… caliber to remember, but do try."

Lucien's jaw clenched abruptly as he tried hard to stifle the _murder-him-now_ response he'd developed over his years without a conscience.

"I've killed men for less, you realize," he snarled at last.

"Obviously." This with a nod towards Sam.

The words hit their mark. Reluctantly placated, Lucien slunk back into his shadows, arms returning to cross protectively over his chest.

"He'll be fine," came his sullen response at last.

"Says the Imperial." Ocato looked up. "You have no idea how to handle your own magic, let alone an elf. If I were you, I'd leave before doing any more damage."

Lucien smiled, the soft candlelight glittering off too-sharp teeth.

"Make me."

* * *

"I feel like we're going the wrong way," Sam said after having walked an hour, snaking between the masses of moving souls.

"Trust me," Eldamil said simply, reaching back to keep him close.

Sam frowned.

"Alright. How do I know when we get there?"

"I'll have stopped moving."

"Ass."

Eldamil grinned.

"Are we even _close_?" he asked after another five minutes had passed.

Smirking slightly, the High Elf stopped moving.

"Ah," Sam said, looking up at the towering dark figure before him. "Hello."


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: M'aiq likes calipers. Cyprith likes calipers. Thus, everyone shall like calipers. You get another caliper now because Pheonicia is teh awesome.

* * *

Sam had realized, somewhere in the back of his incredibly busy mind, that it stood to reason that at one time, wraiths had been people. But rarely did one find oneself in need of such logic. Which was probably the reason for his current speechlessness.

The Altmer smiled. At least he looked like an Altmer… only his skin was dark, a strangely blue-brown that almost glowed, and his hair a white so brilliant it seemed more like starlight than a color at all.

_The Wrath of Sithis is an… an Ayleid?_

"You took longer than I expected." The voice was like nothing he'd ever heard— male and female intertwined one in the other, a symphony of languages and timbres melded together until there was no discerning one from the other.

The Wrath of Sithis... Here, in this changing, timeless place, everything slowed. The words drifted, their separate languages becoming a part of whatever fabric comprised this place. On Cyrodill, there was no time, no space to sprawl. This beautiful drift was reduced to an ear-shattering scream spinning past a bellowing, open maw. Sam felt odd. Something broke, like the pulling of the single, last, persistent thread, and he felt like in that instant, he understood _everything_.

* * *

_"A traitor. An ugly, stinking traitorous wretch," Arquen's voice, cast low, almost seductive through the darkness. "Such an unfortunately pretty face, though."_

_Laughter. Bellamont._

_"I can make it match."_

_Black, everything black. He could see nothing, but his own hair was drifting down like snow, pressing sweet kisses against the torn skin of his wrists, still caught by the ropes that bound them._

_Laughter again. Men's laughter. One from a distance, two flanking either side._

_"Look what I've found." Footsteps, echoing closer. "Calipers."_

_"I wonder if his eyes come out," Arquen laughed. She'd always been a child to tear the heads from dolls._

_"He looks almost savage without all that hair," the man on his right as he carved patterns in his back with the tip of a knife. "I wonder if anyone will find him here when we've done."_

_Arquen laughed and he could hear iron colliding with her jewelry._

_"The dog."_

_"What do you mean? Lachance will be dead," Bellamont commented, pretending at innocence. _

_Laughter again, ringing in his ears until he was sure they'd begun to bleed._

_"Death is too good for you," Arquen hissed in his ear, and he realized his ears were bleeding. She'd done something— pressure and pain, but he couldn't see to know what it was she held in her hands._

_And then the press of metal, cool against the skin of his eyes, and Arquen's voice again, like a pig in heat._

_"Lets see about those pretty little eyes of yours."_

* * *

Lucien jerked away, nearly tipping sideways in the already precariously balanced chair. Ocato was on his knees on the bed next to Sam, looking wild as magic whipped around his fingertips.

Sam, he realized, wasn't breathing.

And through his pain he realized he felt empty.

"No. _No!_ _Sam_"

* * *

Sam frowned, feeling oddly detached and lost… colorless. He looked like all the others now, he noticed, staring down at his arm as it decided to keep the image of a robe, though his other arm was bare.

_"Samwane, please. Sam. Oh, gods, no. Please. Not this one. Not this man."_

The Ayleid's hand was a solid comfort against his back, the only thing that felt solid anymore. But through the confusion, and the haze of voices around him, he felt almost like he were… going to a long expected party.

_"Don't you dare, Silencer. Don't you **dare,** Sam. SAM."_

"Eldamil—" he tried to turn, to reach back, but he'd gone back into the drift, another face lost.

The Ayleid shook his head, urging Sam forward.

"He is not one of Sithis' chosen. He cannot follow us here."

_"By the nine… Please, not Sam. After all he's done? Sam…Champion."_

"Where are we going?"

_"Sam, listen to me for once in your wretched existence. You've got to come back... I need you."_

"Home." Another unspeakable, beautiful smile. "To see Father."

_"This is your fault. This is all your fault. By the nine, I'm going to kill you."_

Sam stopped, looking around, feeling like something had gone unaccountably wrong.

"I need to get back. I'm not dead. I can't be dead."

_"You can try, old man."_

"Everything dies."

_"Get out. By the nine, get out before I bring this place down around your ears."_

"It doesn't end yet," Sam said, suddenly fierce, determined in the knowledge he was right. "I'm not done."

_"I'm not leaving him. Not now."_

The Ayleid shrugged.

"It doesn't matter now. Come, Father's waiting."

_"I'll be damned before I stand by and let his murderer take him."_

It didn't matter. He was right, yes. He wasn't finished. It shouldn't end yet. He wasn't done.

But he'd had his cards taken away. The game was over. There was no one left to keep playing.

He didn't exactly have a choice.

Defeated, Sam dropped his head and followed.

* * *

Sithis was… infinite. He was everywhere, everything— cold as night in the same instant he was a raging bonfire, hatred, love, indifference, loathing, obsession, tenderness, aggression.

Chaos.

The Ayleid closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling of the Dread Father's all encompassing embrace. Sithis, he realized, was smiling.

"Hello, boy. You've come early."

A burning wind ripped past him, followed shortly after by the soothing caress of a cool breeze. They seemed to be in a cavern, only without limits. All encompassing darkness, all encompassing light. It mixed together beyond anything he could comprehend, seeming strangely tangible, illuminating the dark without showing anything.

Rarely was Sam truly frightened. But now he could see through himself and it was doing nothing for his peace of mind.

"Samwane, you've come home." Ocheeva's voice, a blessedly familiar hiss.

Sam turned, taking a long moment to focus on her face instead of the floating torch just behind it.

"The Dread Father was not expecting you. Did something go wrong? A contract perhaps?"

"Lucien…" Sam looked around, bewildered. "I think Lucien killed me."

Sithis shrugged, an odd shifting in the rampaging, comforting chaos.

"Yes. A foolish accident. One I intend on remedying."

Sam felt an overwhelming wave of relief wash over him. He laughed, grinning like an idiot, feeling like launching himself into the arms of the nearest reachable person.

"Thank you. Gods, _thank_ _you_!"

"Gods?" Sithis seemed amused, offended. Chaos in contradiction. "There are no gods here."

But the Ayleid laughed and everything fell apart at the wonder of the sound.

"He has not grown from his meaningless words. Give him time."

And the balance to chaos was restored.

"Time," Sithis mused, good humor returned. "We have an eternity to spare."

"Time enough, I think."

The Ayleid smiled and reached out a hand to stroke a passing dark tendril. Sithis chuckled, that sneaking tendril changing course to stroke against the Ayleid's neck.

"Always so gentle."

"You're forgetting," he chided, carefully prizing the wispy beast away.

"You make me forget," Sithis murmured, happiness curling around unease.

"Concentrate. Put the boy back before too much time has passed."

Silence fell suddenly. The Ayleid's eyes glowed.

"It's been days," he said at last, once the starlight had faded. "You'd best hurry."

Another whisper of wind— a sigh.

Sam wondered if through that all encompassing darkness there wasn't a creature… a man. The Ayleid, Sithis' Wrath… was this creature the Night Mother as well? He seemed so many things in the instant he was one. Sithis loved him. It was palpable, as tangible as if it had been written in the air itself.

Contradiction.

Within that love, there held suspended a perfect, shining fear. Uncertainty embraced trust. Sithis fell without moving, ever balanced on the precipice, dancing wildly on the blade of a knife.

And it was _beautiful_.

Sam felt broken, incomplete. Like something fundamental had been torn away from him.

He was alone, he realized, the moment before everything lurched away from him in the shattering, terrifying instant he was jolted from the drift.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: The wonderful wizard of Oz. -teh ebilz-

* * *

Nothing made sense. It was his first logical realization. 

Sam blinked, staring up at the belly of a giant dragon. Martin's giant dragon. The Avatar of Akatosh. Was he _dreaming?_ He had been dead, he was sure of it. And yet now he was here in the Temple of the One.

Slowly, Sam sat up and cradling his aching head with one hand, massaging his back with the other, he looked around. He was sitting on a stone slab that had been built to cover the center of the stone dais. Flowers littered the platform around him. Here and there he found the odd trinket, a ring, a necklace.

Apparently his mouth had fallen open at one point in his death, because a moment later he spat out a pearl.

"Bloody hell," he muttered to himself, glancing up at the stone dragon. "Your fault. I blame you entirely."

_"I had nothing to do with it, you know." _

Sam jumped and wheeled around, tumbling off the stone dais when his right leg refused to bend.

"Martin? What the hell?"

Laughter. But Martin was nowhere to be seen.

_"I can't believe they let me in here."_ A new, whispered voice Sam recognized as Eldamil's. _"I tried to kill you, you know." _

Martin laughed again.

_"You're as much emperor as I am now. I much preferred being a priest, to be honest. Not quite so dangerous."_

_"Until I destroyed Kvatch." _

_"True." _

It was in his head, he realized. He could hear them _in his head_. He was losing his mind. Sithis had sent him back, but he'd sent him back stark raving mad. The Champion of Cyrodill was an insane _zombie_.

Sam checked his arms then, just for good measure. There was no sign of rot. But then, there was no sign of celestial intervention either. His skin was _his skin_. It was completely, terrifyingly normal.

_"Try taking a deep breath, Sam,"_ Martin's voice a comforting rhythm in his head. _"You'll find things have changed a bit."_

_"Oooh, larks! Wot the hell's that, yeah?" _an odd voice he'd never heard before in his life, followed shortly after by the sound of something very heavy being thrown.

_"Sod off, fetcher!" _Eldamil snapped, probably the one who'd been doing the throwing.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam whispered, feeling like an idiot. An idiot _talking_ _to himself._

Martin _sniggered_. There was really no other word for it.

_"You've realized your god happens to be a bit… scatterbrained, yes?" _

"Chaotic. That's what he _is_," Sam snapped.

_"Yes, well in his chaos it appears he's forgotten a few things." _

Sam turned to look at the statue, because talking to an inanimate object was better than speaking to one's self.

"What do you mean _a few things_?"

_"He didn't quite extract you completely from the void." _

"And?" He was getting severely frustrated at this point.

_"Your voice is still here," _Eldamil filled in. _"With us. Which means, by some strange logic, you can hear us."_

Martin chuckled, sounding smug.

_"I imagine it's the chaos you mentioned. Hearing being the opposite of speech, you know." _

* * *

May woke up at the sound of something crashing on the opposite wall. She'd been here for a week now, and was just beginning to get used to sleeping in a bedroll again. When Lucien had nearly dragged her back to the Imperial City with an angry, broken explanation, she'd suspected Sam had gotten himself killed. 

She'd also suspected he'd get himself un-killed.

She was, apparently, very right as the Bosmer in question was currently throwing anything he could get his hands on into the giant stone dragon. A great deal of it was shattering. The weapons and such incapable of shattering were bouncing off, only to be retrieved by what she assumed was Sam's own remarkably weak version of a telekinesis spell. At the moment, objects were dragging themselves over the ground towards his feet, like one-armed zombies, before he snatched them up to beat the dragon with again.

Martin's nose was looking dangerously close to chipping.

"Sam!" she called, standing up to run to his side, the light fabric of her linen dress dancing around her legs. "What are you _doing_?"

He'd worked himself up into a rage, waving his arms at the statue, a gesture that no doubt should have been accompanied by a fearsome bellowing that had instead been replaced with an odd, rusty squeak.

May knew if she didn't want Sam's current weapon of a nicely potted plant aimed for her head, she'd better keep from laughing. But it was remarkably like watching an angry chipmunk.

"Sam," she struggled to keep her voice from wavering. "You're mute."

Another angry gesture and the planter sailed into Martin's head, chipping a piece from his nose.

"Lucien was convinced I could call you back. Had Ocato not been here, he'd probably have gutted me."

Sam quieted, still seething, but cocked his head with a squeak like a rusty hinge she assumed meant: _Ocato? _

"Ocato was here, yes. He spends quite a bit of his time here since you wandered off. What were you trying to do?"

He went off again, waving and throwing things at poor Martin and making furious gestures she could just grasp the meaning off.

"But Lucien's alive. Why were you wading back through there?"

Sam glared and cast a spell that made a replica of Lucien's image hover in the air. A moment later he shot the biggest fireball he could muster through it, stomped viciously at the mist and once more resumed throwing funeral trinkets at Martin's head.

"Lucien _killed_ you? But he was panicking." She stopped then. "Maybe that's _why_ he was panicking. Did he mean to?"

Sam shot her _a look_.

"Ah," she grimaced as sat down on the now clean edge of the dais. "Not just bad aim then?"

A series of furious motions that generally boiled down to, "_He aimed right for me!"_

"Why?" She frowned. "What'd you do?"

A planter was hefted threateningly in her direction.

"I don't mean it in a bad way." And then, without so much as a pause. "Lucien thinks you're sleeping with Ocato, you know."

The planter dropped to the ground and Sam suddenly sounded like the Elder Council door gone mad. He was _laughing_ she realized after a moment.

Laughing at sleeping with Ocato.

"I take it you aren't then?" she ventured.

This one, a perfect, evil grin she couldn't quite parse the meaning of.

"Well, Ocato's just as upset. I hear he physically _threw_ Lucien to his guards and had him arrested. But you know Lucien. He killed the guards before they could get him inside the prison and ran off. About carried me back here. I've still got bruises, see?" She lifted up the arm of her shirt to reveal the handprint emblazoned there.

Sam frowned and sat next to her, painting a vague, swirling gesture with his hand.

"Where's Lucien?"

A nod. May laughed and shrugged.

"I haven't the faintest. I know he's in the city somewhere. He comes to talk to you at night."

Sam conjured up another image of Lucien and blew its head off with a misaimed whirlwind.

"I don't think he meant to kill you."

Sam nodded fiercely, lips pursed.

"Maybe it was part of a strategy," she offered, not wanting to believe that the man Sam loved could kill him without a thought. "He's full of those."

Sam glowered and stood up. Lucien certainly was full of half-baked strategies. Looked good too, until you bit into them. Traitor in the Dark Brotherhood? Kill an entire sanctuary, never mind that Bellamont never so much as set _foot_ in the Cheydinhal sanctuary while he was there. Barge into a place one isn't wanted? Attempt to kill both occupants. No one left to complain, suddenly one is welcome.

"I know you're upset, Sam, but I really believe he cares for you. Why else would he come every night?"

Sam gestured towards his mouth and then to the stone dais.

"I don't know what he said, he sent me out of the room." And then suddenly, on a whim, she knocked the next projectile out of his hands and swept him up into a huge hug. "I'm glad you're alive. Everyone is… will be, rather."

She pulled away with a lopsided grin, keeping one hand at his arm.

"I kept you from rotting, you know. You were easy. Never had a corpse like you." And then, because she was _so_ very May, the topic changed completely. "Ocato was shattered when you died. He's the one that brought you here. He comes first thing every morning when he thinks I'm still asleep. Never says word. But he brings presents."

Sam smiled at the mention of Ocato and took May's hand, leading her for the door.

Apparently they were off to see the wizard.


	20. Chapter Twenty

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Making up a few of my own rules for the language here. Delle grant Anyammis life. I or ia plural. Av of. Lets pretend if we add an O to something it's like adding an -er.

* * *

Ocato couldn't concentrate. A few of his best guards were dead thanks to that fetcher of an assassin, Sam had _been_ dead for three days now, and he felt extremely _guilty_ about everything. There were a hundred things he could have done to keep the man from shooting off that fireball. He could have killed him, stolen his magic while he had a clear shot, paralyzed him, disabled him, disarmed him, summoned _something_ to block Sam from his sight.

Not to mention that had he been awake, had he not drifted off and left Sam to his own devices, he would have been alive. Dead to the world, perhaps, but as long as he was breathing there was a chance.

That May child was a blessing from the Nine at least. Not another like Sam, but _close_. And thank the gods; she actually had a name for what Sam was. An old Ayleid term and another in an old language he didn't recognize, both names her mother had gone by at one point or another. _This_ was something tangible at least. Now, sitting in the Imperial Library surrounded by the oldest of books, he had something to search for.

If he could find the source of the magic that allowed Sam his gift, it was possible he could find another.

_Delleo__ av A__nyammisia_. This he could find, at least. There were several references in the old text. Literally, it meant Granter of Lives, and there were records of a few. Stories of wariors raising their kin in the midst of battle with a cry that could shatter rocks. He rather suspected these where actually stories of the Chimer and their ghosts, embellished so many times they'd lost what truth they still retained.

It was the second he had laid his hopes in, and the one, so far, he could find no record of.

_Taerose Kadule_

He had no idea what it meant. He could not parse the words or pry them from each other. There was nothing to take apart, no language they made the least bit of sense in. Ayleidic gibberish— a false language pieced together with scraps from others. It haunted him.

_Taerose Kadule._

The words whispered through his mind like a siren's song, driving him further into his books. He hadn't slept in days, hadn't given more than a passing thought to a proper shave. The blind monks steered far clear of him, preferring to tend to their books rather than the sudden eccentricities of the High Chancellor.

Carvain had been by again today. Someone had run up to fetch him, but he'd sent them off, all the while resisting the urge to give the countess a little love note of her own. Hers was crumpled in a smoking heap in the very farthest corner, a tight little ball of ash.

* * *

_I know not what the empire will do now that our Champion lays dead. Truly the weight on your shoulders must be immense with no other to help bear the load. Cyrodill mourns, as do I. But I fear perhaps that in your grief and piling responsibilities that you forget you also have a duty to yourself. The empire may not run itself, but who, Chancellor, is running _you?

_I implore you to break from this monotony. Have supper with me so that we may more comfortably discuss this grave turn the empire has taken._

_My best wishes always,_

_N.C. _

_

* * *

_

It was her request that he _break from his monotony_ that had done it. Monotony? She considered his attempt to save the Champion monotonous, _trivial? _

Not for the first time, a voice in the back of his head whispered that maybe she was right. This witch-hunt could be useless. Perhaps Sam was better off dead.

"Ocato?" It sounded like May. For her to come away from her constant maintenance of Sam's body…

He jumped to his feet, opening the door himself before any of the priests could move.

"What's happened?" he meant to ask, but the words died in his throat at the sight of Sam standing there, grinning fit to beat any imp. "By the Nine. You're alive."

And without giving a single thought to decorum, Ocato swept him up in a great bear hug, managing to spin them both around before common sense set in and he set the Bosmer back down.

"There's actually a bit of a problem," May announced, rather awkwardly, knowing Sam wasn't exactly built to break the silence anymore.

Ocato turned, still half smiling and looking between the two of them.

"What? What could be wrong? He's back in one piece, he's alive—"

Sam opened his mouth, going through all the gestures but a fraction of the sounds.

"—he _squeaks_," Ocato finished in shock, laughing, too relieved Sam was alive to be upset by this revelation. "By the Nine, Sam, must you do _everything_ by halves?"

* * *

Night fell and Lucien finally crept out of hiding. He wasn't about to stay in the Imperial City, but as a member of the family owned the Wawnet Inn at the foot of the Imperial City gates, he found himself more than welcome there.

There were those who had remained loyal, never mind what Vicente said.

This wasn't right, he decided, cloaked in shadows and making his silent way up to the Imperial City. His conscience was dead. Or rather, _had been_ dead. He was supposed to be the most efficient killer of the Dark Brotherhood— remorseless, emotionless, cruel and cunning. And yet all it took was a single, mischievous little Bosmer to break all that.

Sam had never tortured a man and swore he never would. His deaths were clean, merciful. Never poisons, as they couldn't be trusted to be painless, never spells that took more than a few seconds to do their work. He'd fight with a weapon if he could, if the odds seemed even. He was… touchable. So unlike his other Silencers, as cold as they were beautiful. They'd felt only hate, lust, jealousy, greed… obsession. Never Sam.

Sam… Sam was dead. It was hard to believe the laughing, mischievous imp of a boy that took great delight in switching his most deadly ingredients with wild flowers and colored mud could be _dead_.

Lucien had expected him to look different— his body to retain some vibrancy, some color from life. But the boy looked like every other corpse he'd ever seen, simply a shadow of his former self. Like an empty wine glass, still tinted with the spirit it had held.

Idiotic then, that he should trek up here every night, when the rest of Cyrodill had come and gone with their useless trinkets and flowers, to see the empty corpse of a man he'd once known.

_Loved. And look what you did to him._

He'd take it back, if he could. The plan had been stupid, barely a plan at all. Had he only waited, had he kept his head about him instead of assuming his Silencer was sleeping with that rotten old bag of an Altmer…

Nothing made sense anymore, and he hated it.

_The Listener is dead. What does that make you?_

An idiot. A complete and total fool.

Lucien pushed open the doors to the Temple of the One, looking immediately to the bedroll in the far corner. The little murderer was gone. Good. He had a moment of peace then.

Encased in his own thoughts as he was though, Lucien failed to notice the empty dais until a moment later. Odd how the sight of something _missing_ was able to set his heart, steady in the face of death, into a panic.

Gritting his teeth, Lucien steadied himself, ignored the wave of grief and sat.

Sam was dead. They couldn't keep the rot out forever. He would have to be buried.

_Three days_.

Lucien stopped, and looked up with a flicker of hope.

Three days. It took a vampire three days to rise from the ashes. Sam was no vampire, but all the same, he wallowed in death. It was possible, whatever creature he _was_, could mimic such an action.

_Three days._

How long does it take the Champion of Cyrodill to rise from the dead?

Lucien grinned, hope hardening into trust. Sam was alive. Sam was alive and he was going to do whatever it took to win him. Damned if there was anyone in Cyrodill capable of keeping a Lachance from getting what he wanted.

He laughed, feeling something like an imp himself, cloaking himself in shadows and sprinting between the guards on his way to the Imperial Palace. He stole the purse from one in white armor, a single, impulsive swipe of the knife.

Why not?

_Why not?_ His days had been driven too long by some absurd image of what he was and what he could be. He was tired of playing the aloof politician. He was a scoundrel, a bandit, a murdering gentleman thief. For godssake, he was a Speaker of the Black Hand. He could do whatever he wanted.

It wasn't that hard to slip away into a crowd. Chameleon worked nicely enough, if you could keep it up while you killed. And even if he was seen, even if that guard in white was clever enough to recognize him, how hard was it to change a face, a name? He'd been a thousand different people, he could be a thousand more.

Things were changing. He could feel it in the air as he slipped inside the Imperial Palace. Things were changing and he intended to be a part of it.

Champion of Cyrodill…

Lucien smirked, dancing through the shadows.

Hell hath no devil like a Lachance in love.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Immensely pleased with the use of apparent non-words. XD

* * *

Lucien, hiding in the shadows waiting for the monks to pass, froze when he saw May nearly skipping down the corridor, grinning ear-to-ear. He lunged out as she passed, clapping a hand over her mouth and dragging her back the way she'd come.

"Ow, _ow_. Not that arm, you fetcher," she grumbled, mostly muffled. "You nearly tore it off last time. _Ouch!_"

"_Quiet!_" he hissed, shoving her through the door, waiting a moment before speaking to see if any of the monks followed. But May had been up and down those halls quite a lot in the last week and as she had a tendency to complain to herself as she trotted along, no one had noticed.

"Where's Sam?" he demanded, turning, a look in his eyes she'd never seen before.

Unfortunately, May was _not_ impressed.

"He's where you left him," she said, Vicente's training keeping her from grinning like an idiot at her own double meaning. "I don't think he's in a position to be moving much."

Strictly speaking, that was true. Ocato had sequestered the boy in his rooms and was _not_ letting him leave. Apparently, while glad he was alive, he was immensely irritated to find he'd been working as a member of the Dark Brotherhood.

Lucien _glowered_ at her, but that strange look was still in his eyes, a sort of fearful desperation, almost hopeful.

"I will ask you again, and this time I expect a proper answer. Where is Sam?"

It didn't make sense though, for Lucien to be afraid. The man knew no fear. Anger, failure, lust, perhaps, but never _fear_.

"Ocato took him," she said absentmindedly, trying to parse the look on his face. He was angry at her, yes, but there was something else in his eyes.

He _knew_ Sam was alive, she realized. He'd trusted him to come back. Suddenly the bits and pieces she'd heard filtering through the missing ceiling of the Temple of the One made sense.

Lucien had his Bosmer back. He was in _love_.

"Took him where?" he demanded, face still a mask of hate. But May was grinning wickedly at her realization, her fear of the man in front of her long gone.

"Where does Ocato carry anything off to? Have you seen the inside of his rooms? I swear, everything he picks up eventually ends up back there. Of course, he has a horrible habit of putting things in his pockets without realizing it, but—"

Lucien slapped a gloved hand over her mouth again, glaring.

"Return to the Cheydinhal sanctuary. Inform the others the Listener hasn't died."

"What am I supposed to tell them?" She glared, pulling off his hand. "That he's mute and Ocato doesn't know what's wrong?"

_That_ stopped him in his oh-so-important tracks.

"He's _what_?"

May smirked.

"Mute. As in, without a voice. Cannot talk. Makes an odd squeaky noise instead."

"Sithis help us," he muttered darkly, swiping away an errant stand of hair.

"Ocato's under the impression it's Sithis' fault, actually."

"Ocato is an idiot," Lucien snapped. "Tell the others Sam has gone into hiding. A death threat from the Imperial Legion that hit close to home."

"But Hieronymus is one of his closest friends. He helped Sam at Bruma."

Lucien took a slow, deep breath, trying not to notice that everything boiled down to the same thing.

_Who helped Sam when you were sitting cozy in Farragut? Who was on his side? Who gave a damn whether he lived or died?_

"Then tell them there's a traitor in the guild."

"You mean you?"

"_What_?" Lucien growled, his eyes snapping into hers with what should have been terrifying intensity. "You forget who you're speaking to, girl."

"My mistake," May said, looking totally unamused. "Who are you then? I could have sworn you look just like Lucien Lachance."

"Explain yourself before I _strangle_ you," he ground out, his good humor evaporating.

May only shrugged, half wondering what would have happened if she'd left one of Lucien's more important bits fall off.

"You killed the Listener. That makes you a traitor."

"No more traitor than that pig Altmer. And I mean to make good on my dues."

May shrugged again, inspecting the bruise on her arm to see if it had grown.

"Arquen defeated the Wrath. _You_ on the other hand, have been expelled."

"Only the Listener can expel me, you—"

"This Listener _did_, you filthy fetcher. And seeing as how you killed him, the Listener likes _me_ better. So if I were you, I'd be a little more careful which murderers you throw around." She stepped aside then, with a toss of her hair and opened the door to the stairwell.

But Lucien grabbed her before she could go, spinning her around to face him.

"Samwane expelled me?"

"Yes." She glared. "I thought I'd made that clear."

"_Samwane_? My Silencer."

"Listener. Yes."

Lucien glared, suddenly spotting a hole in this logic.

"You said he was mute."

May narrowed her eyes, giving him her own version of Sam's _look_.

"He has hands. Ocato has paper. Occasionally, they even have _ink_. Good day, Mr. Lachance."

And with that she was gone, back down the stairs into the blind monks' hall while behind her, Lucien resisted the urge to bash his head against the wall.

* * *

"Expelling people, Sam?" Ocato glared, though he didn't turn away from the calcinatory. "You make it sound as though I'm letting you continue in this insane guild of yours."

Sam scribbled something down and threw it at him. Ocato caught it with a stray bolt of telekinesis before it could drop down into the vicious smelling soup.

_I'll have you know, I happen to be a very important person._

"Yes," Ocato said, throwing the note back. "The Champion of Cyrodill, recently back from the dead, thank the Nine, but still with the same atrocious handwriting."

_I write fine._

Ocato laughed, tossing the note into the bowl he peeling Nirnroot into.

"Yes, I suppose you are a fine scribbler. But I was referring to your penmanship."

_Your quills are too big, you giant freak._

"Have you considered that perhaps you're simply too small?"

Sam glared and Ocato had to reach a hand out to keep his mortar and pestle from crawling off the table.

"You know, I'm surprised your telekensis isn't stronger, Sam. The Champion of Cyrodill should be able to throw a grown man across the room." Ocato stopped, a tell tale quiver in the corner of his mouth. "Though I suppose you _could_ throw a Bosmer."

_Would you like me to try throwing Altmers?_

"I don't think you could pick me up with any method, Sam, let alone magic."

_We can't all be fat._

Ocato paused in his work to better glare at Sam, who was currently scrawling innocent doodles along the edges of his stack of parchment.

"I am _not_ fat."

_It's all right. Old people are supposed to get paunchy._

Ocato glowered, watching as a moment later, an extremely well aimed carrot had Sam doubled over.

"Neither am I old."

_Of course not._

Ocato smirked, and turned back to his work.

"As notes cannot be sarcastic, I will take that exactly the way I want to."

Sam squeaked. And it sounded decidedly like _fat_. He didn't give the boy the satisfaction of turning around. He only had one carrot left and he needed it.

* * *

Expelled from the Dark Brotherhood.

He'd been _expelled_ from the Dark Brotherhood.

He was… nothing. Not a mage, or a scholar. He was a _killer_. It's what he did. It had been, until now, his profession. And what did this make him?

_Nothing. You're nothing. You're homeless, fundless, and alone._

Strictly speaking, that wasn't exactly true. He had money. But considering his situation, it wasn't about to help much.

But then, it was possible Sam was just upset. He had recently been dead. Lucien knew from experience waking up after that wasn't pleasant. And if he had been the one to cause it, the boy certainly had reason to be angry. But if he could just apologize…

* * *

Sam watched the door handle move, happily munching on his carrot, thinking it was probably May come back to retrieve the cloak she'd left behind. It wasn't. And upon realizing who it _was_, Sam threw his carrot with as much force as he could muster at the unfortunate, former Speaker's head. 


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: There's more than one of these, you know. See if you can catch _that_ reference. Muahahaha!

* * *

"By the Nine, you're back _again_," Ocato snapped, taking his horrible smelling potion from the heat. "I've half a mind to kill you myself."

"I didn't come to fight with you," Lucien returned the glare, otherwise trying hard not to make Sam angrier than he was. "Samwane, a word with you?"

Sam glowered and crossed his arms, the carrot jittering and jumping over the floor towards him.

"Please, Sam—"

"He can't _speak_, you idiot." Ocato was still glaring, arms crossed. "It's _your _fault."

"This doesn't concern you!" he barked, before turning back to Sam. "I came to apologize."

Smirking, Sam picked up his carrot and walked into Ocato's room. Lucien, with a relieved slump to his shoulders, attempted to follow before the High Chancellor stepped in his way, one eyebrow cocked.

"Where exactly do you think you're off to?"

"Just move, old man," Lucien growled. He couldn't kill him. Couldn't even hurt him if Sam _was_ sleeping with him, because then he'd have no chance at all explaining how much better off he'd be with a change of partners.

"I am _not_ letting you back into my quarters. It took two days to get your stink out."

Lucien clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white. All the while, a frustratingly familiar mantra played in his head. Vicente's voice whispering, "_Don't act. Wait. Watch." _

* * *

"_You should probably go talk to him,"_ Eldamil murmured, sounding sleepy. _"Unless you want him to kill that stupid excuse for an Altmer."_

_"There's no call for that."_ He could _hear_ Martin frowning.

_"Just because you're in love with Ocato." _Sullen now.

_"He's a good man. I trust him. That Lachance fellow, on the other hand. Cold-blooded as a daedra."_

Sam would have come to his defense, had he not been recently dead at his hands. But then, maybe this was the sort of betrayal Vicente felt at having been killed without so much as an apology.

_"Well, you'd get your bloody stupid apology if you just went outside."_

_"Not with a man like that, Eldamil. He'll have strings attached."_

_"Wot's this, tut tut? Cliff racers on my head?" _That strange third voice again before he heard Eldamil give an exaggerated sigh and something ricocheting off a wall.

"I'd just like to get my voice back, thanks very much," he muttered, washing his carrot in the basin. "The last thing I want to deal with is that self serving little bastard."

_"I'd talk to him, if I were you," _Martin said. _"I don't expect he'll go away otherwise, and he's not the sort of person I'd want lurking about."_

_"Why doesn't Ocato deal with him then?"_ Oh, yes. Eldamil was definitely sullen.

_"Because Ocato respects Sam enough to leave him manage his own unwelcome guests."_

_"Incapable idiot's what he is."_

_"Wheee! Zarks, Lar, Almalexia an' the lot. I'ma flyin' like a wizard in Pork!"_

Eldamil groaned and there was another loud crashing sound. Sam winced, hoping this potion of Ocato's worked. Whoever the third wheel was, he brought an immense headache every time.

"What _is_ that?" he asked, inspecting his carrot for bits of dirt. "The other one that keeps screaming."

_"No one," _Martin replied, and then in a low whisper he assumed he wasn't supposed to hear, _"Don't tell him."_

"Tell me what?"

Eldamil laughed.

_"You and your big mouth."_

_"That's not a complaint I've heard from you before," _Martin grumbled

"Tell me what? What the hell is that thing?" Sam glared at the poor, chewed on carrot. "It doesn't sound remotely human."

_"It's not," _came Eldamil's voice, thick with stifled laughter. _"It's—"_

"_Eldamil!"_

_"—one of Sithis' pets. It got loose."_

"Martin," Sam growled. "Tell me what that thing is _now_."

_"Trust me when I say you're better off not knowing."_

"Martin," a warning tone now with Sam wondering how exactly you threatened a dead man.

_"It's a scamp!" _Eldamil crowed and broke down laughing. A moment later Martin shouted something unintelligible and sounds of a minor scuffle ensued.

Sam shut his eyes, trying to sooth the pounding headache.

Lovely. Just lovely. There was a scamp _watching him_ and he couldn't do anything about it.

* * *

"Sam, do you intend on coming out of there?" Ocato called, glancing towards the slowly congealing potion. "I'm going to lock the doors otherwise."

Inside, something shattered. It was, he assumed, as much of a response as Sam could manage.

"Right then. Hurry it along." And then as an after thought, "That better not have been my vase."

Sam emerged, carrying the shattered neck of the empty bottle of brandy.

"Ah," Ocato smiled, returning to work. "That's alright then."

Wielding the broken bottle with one hand, carrot in the other, Sam made a sweeping gesture towards the door. Lucien nodded and made his way out. He had hoped for somewhere a little more private, but then it wasn't as if the boy was going to shout.

"Sam," he started, wracking his brain for another time he'd had to apologize, wondering if it'd gone well at all. "I'm sorry."

Sam only blinked at him and gnawed the end off his carrot.

"I had no idea that I could… harm you so easily."

The response to this an incredibly rude gesture Lucien hadn't realized one could do with a carrot.

"I don't know what to say to you," he admitted, sweeping off his hood to better run a hand through his hair. "I—"

He stopped short, realizing Sam was _laughing_. Glaring, he crossed his arms, waiting for him to finish.

"I'm glad _someone_ finds my plight amusing."

Sam paused, holding up a hand before a piece of paper slid out from under the door. Frowning, and seeing that the boy wasn't about to move, Lucien picked it up.

_You look prissier than Hieronymus._

"Amusing," Lucien said, crumpling the note. And then quietly, "May said you'd expelled me."

Sam nodded cheerfully, munching his carrot.

"It was a _mistake_, Sam," he frowned. "I'd expected Ocato to take the brunt of the blow."

Another note squiggled out from under the door.

_Self-serving idiots have no place in __**any**__ guild._

Lucien clenched his jaw, crumpling the note in his fist.

"Sam, _please_. Consider it a trade, if nothing else." He tried to smile. "A life for a life?"

Another note.

_No._

"No?" Lucien's eyes flashed. He would win this boy whatever it took. This just happened to be an unforeseen obstacle. "I'm surprised you would side with her."

Sam glared and prodded him with the broken bottle, cutting a hole through to his shirt. The next note slid through the door with such forced it bounced off the wall before sliding into his boot.

_If you're talking about May, I will kill you._

"I was referring to my _murderer_, Sam." He turned away, face to the shadows. "I thought I could trust you not to side with Arquen at the very least."

But it didn't work. Sam only shrugged and popped the rest of his carrot into his mouth.

"Damn it, Sam! Show some emotion, for Sithis' sake." He glared, losing a little of his control. "I'd never purposely hurt you, you _know_ that. Why take away the one thing I have left?"

_What's that then?_

Sam looked vaguely curious, still chewing.

"The _Brotherhood_, Sam," he said, hurt creeping into his voice. "_You_."

Sam swallowed hard, nearly choking as he spasmed off into laughter. So Lucien did the one thing he always did when the rest failed him.

He dodged the broken bottle and kissed him.

* * *

As far as kisses went, it was immensely disappointing. Sam was supposed to taste like something exotic, his walls were supposed to come crumbling down, and he was _supposed_ to agree to Lucien's every demand before dragging him off to the nearest bed to ravage properly.

Except he tasted like carrots, he pulled away a moment after the kiss had begun, threatened him with the bottle and ducked back into _Ocato_'s room, possibly intent on ravaging the _wrong man_.

Lucien stared at the closed door, feeling both defeated and oddly aroused.

"This has certainly never happened before," he murmured, a slow grin sprawling over his face.

He should have known Sam wouldn't be easy.

Lucien turned and walked down the hallway, wicked grin firmly in place, wondering where exactly he could get a nice bottle of wine.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: May time!

* * *

May eased open the trap door into Vicente's room and slipped down the ladder, knowing full well one wrong move and she'd be jettisoned out missing a few pints of blood. Invisibility, unfortunately, wasn't any good with vampires, so she was left to carry out her wicked plan on skill alone.

It was a tradition in _any_ guildhall for new initiates to attempt a trick on the old. Or at least, it had been in Skingrad. But she hadn't been there long enough to plan anything, so today, Vicente felt the full force of her terrible, mischievous wrath, being the only member of the original guild hall left.

Stifling a giggle, she crept very close to the stone slab and peered down at him. He'd fed quite a bit in the time she'd been gone, apparently, as sleeping he looked somehow... fuller.

Another giggle met a quick and fatal end as she eased away from the bed and into Vicente's chest of drawers. A bag emerged from one of her hidden pockets and as quickly and as silently as she could, she upended every single drawer into that bag, slipping a handful of garlic into each drawer before replacing it.

She sprinted back up the tunnel then and closed the door behind her as softly as she could. Vampires, in her experience, were less inclined to move the more they fed. So a fat Vicente was a sleepy Vicente.

Snickering to herself at the thought of Vicente ever being fat, she began the quick and dirty job of trying every article of clothing he owned to the ceiling.

* * *

Vicente turned in his sleep, burying his face in his arm. He'd told Ocheeva over and over again that Antoinetta could_ not_ be allowed to cook. The sheer amount of garlic that girl used could choke a horse let alone _him_ with his all too cliché allergy.

But the smell didn't lessen. Or even, for that matter, accompany anything. Usually with the girl's cooking, you could at least hear something screaming in terror.

Vicente cracked an eye, realizing she'd been dead for weeks now and that the smell of garlic was coming from _his_ room. Neither Arquen or the more recent recruits were brave enough to do _anything_ that would risk angering him.

Which meant May was probably hiding in the training room, giggling as she tied strings of garlic around the dummies.

With an exasperated smile born of affection, Vicente stood and searched the room for his shirt. He was sure he'd left it on the back of his chair…

* * *

May grinned and continued her crawl around the ceiling, hooking Vicente's clothes to the sharp juts and curves of the rock. She was, all told, immensely pleased with herself. Not only was she in the midst of pulling off a perfect prank, but she'd also found a use for the mistake potion she'd made while watching over Sam.

It was _supposed_ to be something to keep the rot away so that she could bugger off and return to the world of the living. But somewhere along the lines, her ingredient replacement had failed her, and she found herself stuck to the underside of Martin's belly, crawling up the sheer stone face like an insect.

At the time, she'd been mightily annoyed that she had an entire batch of a totally useless potion… until she'd _thought_ of a use for it. Vicente could tear through the guild if he liked, looking for her. But how likely was he to look _up_?

She giggled and leaned down to hang his underwear from a torch.

* * *

"I take it you told him?" Ocato asked, watching as Sam darted back in the room, a small tidal wave of parchment skittering after him.

A quill fell to the floor and danced across, before making an eerie climb up the table leg to scrawl across Ocato's notes.

_Tell him what? _

Ocato sighed, stifling the urge to run a hand through his hair.

"You must abandon this… cult of yours, Sam. If the council were to find out, they'd destroy us both."

_They can try._

Sam grinned and sat down in his chair. He preferred throwing his paper at Ocato, but stealing the mer's notes worked just as well. But unfortunately, the High Chancellor didn't look amused. With an errant thought and a quick glance, he sent the quill back where it belonged and pulled a clean sheet of parchment from the stack.

"The Elder Council does not _try_, Sam. It _does_. I fear I'm not exactly in favor as it is. It'd be best not to tempt them."

_I fail to see how my goings on involve you._

Ocato only sighed and shook his head.

"How long do you think you can juggle both killer and hero, Sam? How long do you think something like that can last?"

To be honest, he'd never thought of it before. Sam frowned, and leaned back in his chair, vaguely wishing he had another carrot. _Champion _of Cyrodill. It had never meant much to him before. Just another awkward title he'd collected tagging after Martin. Realizing there was actually some responsibility to it… well, that was a shock.

Made sense though. He was suddenly _the_ most famous murderer in Tamriel.

Maybe Ocato was right to be worried.

* * *

"May?" Vicente called, feeling rather misty with the smell of garlic all around. "I suggest you come here immediately."

May, stuck to the ceiling of the main hall, giggled and scrambled off to hide in the dark niche just before the well ladder. Vicente, stunned as he was by the sheer amount of garlic, heard her the echo of her laugh and strode out into the hall, still shirtless.

_Do vampires get goose bumps?_ May wondered, debating whether or not it would be safe to risk moving now. Vicente was scanning the room with that certain look in his eye that meant he was being extremely vampiric just at the moment. May held very still. Best not to attract his attention.

Vicente frowned, baffled. He could _smell_ her, the lingering flowery, earthy smell she left behind. He could hear her, the distant echo of her breathing, and under that, the soft, enchanting pulse of her heart. And yet he could not see her, even the pulsing glow of her aura was hidden from him and there was _no_ way she had the skill to cloak that.

Which meant that she _wasn't _cloaking it, and there had to be another explanation. All of his clothes were somehow attached to the ceiling. So unless she'd somehow enlisted the help of an Almer or very tall Orc to carry her…

Vicente looked up. _There_ in the corner was her familiar, albeit compacted, shape— colors mixing and spinning, a bit of something Bosmer and Breton swirling into one. Grinning, he strode towards her. Whatever spell it was keeping her up, surely wouldn't allow her movement.

May squeaked and scampered out from her hiding spot, looking like a huge, utterly absurd bug loping across the ceiling. A moment later, she heard Vicente laughing behind her, at the way she must look and the fact she'd managed to surprise him. But she knew she wouldn't lose him if she stayed inside the sanctuary.

Grinning to herself at her own cleverness, she clambered out the pulsing door and into the house above. Here, cobwebs and dust coated her fingers and she swore, shaking them off as she hurried for the door. She could hear Vicente's even footsteps behind her with him laughing, cajoling all the while.

But she wasn't about to stop as the second half of her evil plan had yet to be implemented. A moment later she was out the door, squeezing between the rotten slats of wood and onto the roof. Vicente followed, holding a hand up to shield his eyes from the setting sun.

"_What_ are you doing, May?"

He stepped back in the street, attempting to see where she'd gone, but only heard her triumphant giggle and the clang of the well lid as it shut.

* * *

She scrambled down the wall of the well and did an odd, horizontal sprint for Vicente's rooms. Once there, she barred the door, locked the trap door, fell down into the middle of the floor and waited.

Vicente was grinning by the time he reached his rooms, only to find the door shut in his face. Deciding on the best course of action, he lifted a hand to knock.

"I'm afraid you must return later," May called from the inside, mimicking his accent, voice ridiculously deep. "I'm in the midst of a very delicate experiment and cannot be bothered."

_Ah_. He smiled to himself. So that's what this was about. He _had_ honestly been in the midst of an experiment the other day when he sent her off. Apparently this was why she'd been gone so long.

"I assure you, I could be of assistance," he offered, pressing his shoulder against the door to see if she had it barred. "I'm quite excellent at matters of delicacy."

"I'm afraid not. You'd burn your incredibly huge hands and ruin everything."

Vicente turned his head, stifling a laugh. Slowly, he pulled the key from his pocket, speaking to mask the sound of it in the lock.

"Or I could simply watch."

"I find your incredibly large head too distracting," May called, knowing full well what he was doing, speaking to mask her easing open of the trap door.

"Well, I must speak with you about something terribly important. It absolutely cannot wait, I'm afraid," this as he slid his sword into the gap between the two doors, slowly lifting the bar from its place.

"No," May bellowed, kneeling in Ocheeva's old room to shout through the open door. "You'll have to return tomorrow."

And then, with a particularly wicked giggle, she sprinted off.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Possibly a _magic_ carrot. XD

* * *

Arquen hefted up the sword experimentally, feeling its weight and the feel of it in her hands. Too heavy. She discarded it for another, glass this time. Behind the counter, Borba Gra-Uzgash smiled grimly.

"Champion of Cyrodill brought that one t' me himself," she said. "Real shame."

Arquen stopped threatening imaginary foes, turning to look at her.

"A real shame? The sword?"

Borba frowned, an odd look in her eyes.

"Where you been? Underground?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Arquen said, lips pursed. "What's happened?"

"He's dead." Suddenly it was imperative she examine a speck on the counter. "Main theory seems t' be a broken heart. Elves 'er funny things, ain't they? Mehrunes Dagon himself couldn't take the boy down. But give 'im some trollop with no mind t' anyone an' he keels over dead." She shook her head and turned, pulling a rag from the crate behind her. "Real shame."

Suddenly everything crashed around her. She felt like she was drowning, struggling, unable to breathe. Samwane had been missing since her fight with Sithis' Wrath. She vaguely remembered seeing him run out… followed shortly after by Lachance, who'd shoved her into the wall as he passed.

And now the Listener was dead.

_Dead_.

This was not good. Not good at all. As long as Sam had been alive, he created balance. But now? Lachance had been in line for Ungolim's position, just as she had assumed herself in line for Sam's.

The guild was split. She wasn't naïve enough to think Lachance was about to step down and damned if she'd let that silver tongue fetcher destroy the one thing she cared about. She had those who would support her in her cause, loyalists, just as Lachance had his own. They were at war.

* * *

"Here," Ocato said, handing a bottle of the finished potion to Sam. "We'll see if this helps at all."

Sam eyed it warily. It was a vicious color blue, thick and syrupy. Knowing what Ocato had put in there, he rather suspected it would taste as nasty as it had smelled. As if reading his thoughts, Ocato smiled.

"Drink that and I'll get the brandy." Then, as an after thought, "And a bucket."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam downed the potion as fast as he possibly could, desperately wishing for a carrot. Potion finished, he slammed the bottle down on the table, choking and trying very hard not to wretch. A moment later, Ocato had a comforting hand sprawled on the flat of his back, a _very_ comforting glass of brandy offered in the other.

"Any change?" he asked as Sam knocked back the contents of the glass.

Frowning, Sam squeaked. Cursing under his breath, Ocato took the potion bottle back to his workstation.

"That _should_ have worked."

"Obviously it didn't," Sam grumbled, knowing full well he couldn't hear him. "Worst thing I've ever tasted though."

"Write a note, Sam," Ocato said, glancing at him. "You know I can't understand you."

Epitome of smug, Sam crossed his arms.

"You're a fat, wretched old mer with a head the size of a melon and twice as useless. You constantly smell like dust, and your mother—"

"Sam," Ocato snapped, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. "I can turn your ears blue with the next one, if you'd like."

Sam grinned and laughed.

Blue-eared Champion of Cyrodill.

_Do it_, he scrawled, and set it careening into Ocato's head.

Ocato, never one to pass up a challenge, smirked.

* * *

May had attached herself to the ceiling again, as Arquen had dragged her back in for what she called a family meeting. Vicente, having just managed to get his clothes down from the walls and ceilings, was suddenly feeling rather mischievous himself, and being distracted from his wicked plotting had done nothing for his mood. There were two other recruits standing nearby, names he hadn't yet bothered to learn.

"What is the occasion, pray tell?" he asked, first to break the silence though still eyeing May, giggling to herself as she snuck along the ceiling.

"I fear I have terrible news." She _looked_ terrible. "The Listener is dead."

Vicente stood abruptly, and Arquen jolted back, May making a soft noise of admiration above them. He'd moved too fast for either of them to track.

"_What?"_ His voice was soft, but carried an deadly edge that made the room fall silent. "When?"

"He's not, actually," May cut in, with a sheepish smile. "It's a trick."

Arquen frowned, turning to face her.

"A trick? I heard the news from Borba myself. What reason has she to trick—"

"Not her. Sam." Vicente was smiling again, seeming suddenly more human and he relaxed. "Why? Rather dangerous to play with the heart of Cyrodill."

May swallowed hard. Vicente had not emphasized _play with the heart_ at all. It was just her imagination.

"He's going into hiding. Or rather, he has already, and soon everyone will realize he's gone. I'm not sure what happened. I think it has something to do with the Mythic Dawn," this with a glance at Vicente and a barely perceptible shake of the head.

"Do we know where he is?" Arquen demanded. "Is he reachable?"

"His… body of sorts lay in the Temple of the One for three days. But he's not there now."

"Poetic," Vicente smiled, tucking his hands behind his back. "Very poetic. But I do not think we need fear for the Listener. Perhaps it would do simply to inform the other guild halls of this so there are no… miscommunications."

"And then what?" one of the new recruits asked, turning to look at Vicente with deep blue eyes.

He shrugged.

"We wait. Our Listener is remarkably clever. I'm sure he'll turn up within the week." And then turning, one eyebrow cocked. "If you would be so kind as to accompany me back to my quarters, May?" he asked. "It seems we have much to discuss."

Arquen frowned.

"What? Has she done something?" The tone in Vicente's voice suggested discipline.

"No. Rather my clothes have," he smiled, fangs peering out from over his lips. "I was, until recently, unaware of their ability to fly. Shall we?" The last he said turning to look at May, who grinned like the wretched imp she was and scampered off down the hall.

Vicente smirked, and with a short nod of the head to the assembled group, followed.

* * *

Lucien crept down the hallway of the Imperial Palace once more, this time with a wine bottle shoved deep into one of his robe's hidden pockets, having decided that it would be used for one of two things. The first was actually very similar to his original plan involving the winning over of Sam.

He intended to find where the boy was sleeping and present the wine as a sort of apology, or celebration of Sam's being alive again— whichever the boy was more inclined to accept. Then, once Sam had set himself on the way to getting drunk, Lucien would set about seducing him. Once properly seduced the boy would agree to his demands and they could continue on having a lovely night. A lovely night in which Lucien would no doubt have ample time to thank him properly.

The second, a plan he rather suspected would come to pass and dreaded having to implement, involved finding Sam sleeping beside _Ocato_, in which case the bottle would be used to bludgeon the High Chancellor into a fine paste.

Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.

* * *

May was still on the ceiling when he entered the room, crouched above the bed like an odd, dangling spider. Vicente tried very hard to keep a straight face. He had business to discuss, after all.

"You know exactly where Sam's at, don't you?" he asked, making sure the room was sealed as tight as possible. "And it's not in hiding."

"Well, actually he _is_ hiding. Or actually, he's being hidden. I don't think he's all together willing."

Vicente frowned and sat down at the table. Despite his having slipped every last clove of garlic into her bag, the room still reeked.

"Where is he?"

"In the Imperial City. With Ocato."

"I was under the impression they were on good terms." He tracked her as she hopped along the ceiling. "Why is Ocato hiding him?"

"Well, after Sam died—"

"You mean that figuratively, yes?" There was something in the way she said it that begged the question.

"No, actually." She stood up, a motion rather like un-sticking her hands from the ceiling. "Lucien killed him. But he's alright now."

Vicente laughed, massaging a temple.

"You realize that until I met the two of you, I was rather under the impression that death was a permanent condition."

May shrugged.

"I imagine it usually is."

"Tell me, what did that idiot of ours do? Attempt to sever the link?"

"Who, Lucien?" She nodded. "I didn't understand most of it. He was panicking when he came to get me… well, abduct me is more what he did. Apparently he was trying to kill Ocato and he missed. Something got broken and Sam died."

Vicente looked up, lip quirked.

"But he's alright now?"

"Sithis put him back. Only you know how the Dark Father is. He forgets things."

Vicente did _not_, in fact, know that, but nodded anyway so as not to seem rude. Sithis was chaos after all. It almost made sense.

"What did he forget?"

"Well…" she said, creeping over to dangle in front of him, hoping if she distracted him enough she could steal his hair ribbon. "His voice."

Except Vicente stood up too suddenly at that, startling her into jumping, and in jumping, falling from the ceiling into his arms.

May giggled, flushed red to the tips of her ears and grinning, wrapped her arms around his neck.

"My hero."


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Wheeee!

* * *

Halfway down the hallway between stairwells, Lucien stopped, his detect life spell catching on a familiar, shivering glow. Grinning, he paused, one hand curved around the wine bottle in his cloak, the other pressed flat against the door. 

Inside, Sam shifted, face down in the bed and motioning for what looked like a call to arms. Couldn't be more perfect.

Sidling close to the door, Lucien pulled out his skeleton key and set to work on the lock. A few seconds later, it eased open without a sound and he slipped inside, shutting it behind himself with a gentle _click_.

* * *

Vicente found himself staring at the door, wondering how in the world anyone could move that fast, that often. Even vampires would, at length, get tired. But May… she'd managed to steal every item of clothing he had, attach it all to the ceiling while climbing on said ceiling, escape and out maneuver him _twice_, and now, after having fallen from the ceiling, she'd stolen his necklace and sprinted off. 

He still wasn't sure how she'd even managed to get it off. The catch was notoriously cantankerous, and as it took him ages to move it in either direction, he usually simply let it alone. And yet she, clever little imp that she was, had managed not only to beat the clasp, but his own reflexes.

He also rather suspected she was wearing a pair of his pants, but as she never stopped moving…

A slow grin sprawled over his face and he rose. She could have the necklace. He had his own trick to play.

* * *

Sam woke up pressed as far into the borrowed bed as possible without knowing what it was that had woken him. Assuming it'd be yet another nightmarish battle, he ignored it and spent a few happy moments seeing if sprawled eagle in the center of the bed, he could reach a side. 

"You're awake," Lucien said from his seat at the table, smirking slightly, a glass of wine in one hand. "Good. Wine?"

Sam sat up rather abruptly, and finding himself without paper or anything to throw, glared and pointed at the door. Lucien only smiled. He'd taken great pleasure in burning every scrap of parchment he couldn't fit into the pocket of his robes.

"I've locked the door, yes."

He would need Sam to reinstate him in writing, of course. A random nod just wasn't going to cut it. But at the moment, it wouldn't do to have the boy demand he leave. It'd ruin the ambiance he'd worked so hard to create.

Sam glared, crossed his arms and squeaked something that was very likely a hoard of Bosmeri insults. Lucien put on his best smile and with a slight tilt of the head, offered Sam a glass.

"Stupid Imperial git," Sam said, as he took the glass, eyes narrowed. He knew _exactly_ what Lucien was after.

The Dark Brotherhood was his _life_. He had no marketable skills that Sam had noticed. Other than killing and making poisons, but with the emperor dead, so was the economy for such things. He'd _need_ his position back. Sam wagered he'd do anything to get it.

And that included sleeping with the Listener.

Sam's plan had been decidedly simpler. He intended to refuse. _Everything_. Only problem being, he hadn't taken into consideration the man he'd be refusing. Their impromptu bond flared at the mere thought of him. To have him in the room, to _see_ him without touching, taking, _claiming_, was enough to drive him mad.

Lucien had banked on that fact. In fact, he was exploiting it, coming close enough to touch, fingers brushing together at the trading of a glass of wine before sitting at the very edge of the bed. So far away…

Sam closed his eyes, heaving a deep breath.

_"You know what he wants," _Eldamil whispered, probably to keep from waking Martin, his new voice of reason. "_And you know how to trick him. What's the problem?" _

Yes, he did, Sam realized with a jolt. Lucien was probably just as focused on the sex as he was at being reinstated. He'd want to get his position back before fulfilling his end of the bargain, so to speak, but if he were distracted… well, he wouldn't think to check the exact wording, would he?

And Sithis knew he'd watched Lucien long enough to know what it took to make the man lose his control.

Sam smirked, smug in his own success, bringing the wine to his mouth, pretending to drink. Because he _knew_ Lucien would have tainted his glass with something— an aphrodisiac probably, something to kill his control.

Lucien, he noticed, was carefully tracking his every movement over the brim of his own glass.

Oh yes. His wine had been tampered with.

So Sam pretended to swallow and set the wine aside, looking pointedly at Lucien.

"Hmm?" Lucien smiled, arching a brow.

He gestured towards the wine with a question in his eyes.

"My apology," Lucien said, still with that pure sex smile. "I promised you, didn't I?"

Rolling his eyes, Sam looked away.

_"Lachance's move_," Eldamil whispered, a smile in his voice.

"Voyeur," Sam replied, faking his disgust to fool Lucien into thinking the squeak had been meant for him.

Inside his head, Eldamil laughed as outside, Lucien leaned forward a strange, hitherto unseen look on his face.

"Sam, please," there was a deep-seated pain in his voice. It was possible a fraction of it was even real. "Don't be angry with me."

He may have even believed the act, had their bond responded to it at all. But there was no tightening, no pull, no strange glow from under his shirt where the magic would never settle properly.

Sam tilted his head back, keeping his eyes dead, his face emotionless. And Lucien spun up and away from him, back turned, head down. There was a slight tremor in his shoulders, but Sam was oddly unaffected.

Fake. Like everything else— another mask, another charade, another game. A very profitable game. Because he'd risked his life, and gotten it back. Never mind the consequences others felt, it'd never bother him at all. And as long as he could keep playing, keep dancing… As long as he could keep every mask in place, he could win the lot.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, back still turned, voice thick. "I'd never hurt you. You should _know_ that."

He spun back around, striding close, and Sam was surprised how easily he faked the pain in his eyes.

"I died for _you_, you know," he whispered, crouching down next to the bed. "To keep the others away from _you_. As long as I made them nervous, as long as they couldn't pin me down, you were safe."

Sam glared.

"They weren't after me, you conceited ass."

_"He's good at it, isn't he?"_ He knew Eldamil was grinning. _"Lets play a game. What color do you think his eyes _really_ are?" _

"I know you don't believe me." He stood, turned away from the bed and back to the bottle. "I didn't think you would."

There was a silence as Lucien refilled his glass.

"I couldn't kill you," he whispered at length, staring down into the depths of the glass. "You killed Ungolim and I couldn't lift a hand to stop you. Anyone but you and I'd have cut them down where they stood. But not you…"

Sam snorted, almost reaching back for the wine, but checking himself in time as he watched Lucien turn, face hidden in shadow save for his sad little half smile.

"I couldn't kill you, Sam," his voice cracked. Would have been a neat trick had Sam's not been _missing_. "When you died…"

He trailed off then and left it at that. Sam frowned, pressing a hand to his stomach as it twinged painfully. It appeared they'd hit their first true emotion all night. Intrigued now, Sam picked up his wine again, pretending to drink.

"You know," Lucien said at length, looking up suddenly with a too-sharp grin. "I never had the chance to thank you properly for saving my life."

Sam looked away, pretending at disinterest that didn't last long at the sound of Lucien's accompanying growl.

"You can't pretend you feel nothing, Sam," Lucien cast his voice low, that rumbling purr that got him every time, striding across the room. "I can _feel_ you."

And then he reached forward, assassin's reflexes slipping that hand up and under his shirt before he could blink, stroking across the unsettled magic.

Sam's eyes unfocused, the world spun. Suddenly, he was very glad his voice had gone. He'd kill Lucien himself if the man heard him beg.

_"Ooh, dirty trick,"_ whispered Eldamil. And then there was another voice, Martin's, the scamp, someone pulling it away and Sam couldn't be bothered. Not when that wretched, clever hand was pressed against the link, callused thumb stroking patterns on his skin.

"Let me take care of you, Sam," Lucien whispered, breath a hot caress over Sam's lips. "Let me _thank_ you."

Sam grinned and turned the tables, flipping Lucien into the bed with a quick snap of the hips, using momentum to force the heavier man down. The paralysis spell came in handy, as he rifled through Lucien's pockets, finding blank bits of paper, money and the random sliver of candy.

Also, a very small, very _empty_ little vial. Sam flipped it open, letting the smell come to him.

Sweet, vaguely sour. Like… grapes. Strangely like carrots. He held it up, smirking, just as the spell wore off, leaving Lucien a boneless pile slumped against the pillows.

Lucien grinned up at him, pillowing his head with his arms.

"Nothing wrong with helping it along." Reaching over, he leisurely plucked Sam's glass from the bedside table and downed it. "A pity this must be both the first and last time."

So _that_ was his game. They were both after the same thing, apparently. And there was no way in hell Sam could fool himself into thinking didn't want this man more than anything in Cyrodill at the moment. To bed Lucien Lachance... Sam worked hard to keep the smile from his face. If he let Lucien think he'd won... Pretending at disappointment, confusion, Sam cocked his head.

"Champion of Cyrodill, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood…" Lucien smiled, oddly seductive in his pretended sadness. "Obviously a man with such power has no time for those… not of his own ilk."

Another questioning look.

"You expelled me, Sam. I don't expect either of us will have time for the other now."

Sam leaned over and fished in the bedside table for his ink, trying hard to ignore just exactly where Lucien's long clever fingers were roaming and scrawled something across his newly reclaimed paper.

_Lucien Lachance to rejoin guild. Even though he is an arrogant bugger. _

Lucien grinned, arrogant bugger that he was, just before that potion of his _really_ set in. And at that point, Sam's last coherant thought fled, giving way to _mine all mine never let go never let them take you belong to me oh Sithis love you I love you mine always. _

Which would have been a bit frightening had his attention not been focused elsewhere. Namely on the grinning devil of a man above him


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Yes, I stole it! Ahahahahaha! XD Fear me. This chapter totally belongs to Pheonicia.

* * *

May ducked through Cheydinhal's streets, alternately visible and invisible when she thought it'd help her. It was only when she'd circled around twice before finally stopping at the chapel that she had the brilliant idea.

There were any number of miscellaneous spikes and odd outcroppings coming out of the building, after all. It wouldn't be that hard to simply climb up there and hang Vicente's necklace from any one of them. And knowing him and his vampiric senses, there was no doubt he'd see it. Especially if she put it somewhere it could catch the light… For instance above the doors, where Vicente could see it just as he came out of the house.

It was about then, she realized, looking at the house, Vicente hadn't come out after her in the first place. There were footprints in the dust, as always, but none of them fresh. She swore, feeling like a complete idiot.

A complete idiot that had just dodged all through town in an attempt to lose someone who wasn't even following her.

"Oh _piss_," she spat and made her way to the well, more determined than ever to hang Vicente's necklace from the chapel.

* * *

Vicente was amazingly clever with his hands. It hadn't taken long to set the trap. May had left her bag behind after all, all her lovely potions and such rattling together as he brought it down into his room. Securing the trap door with a length of chain and a heavy stone that'd fallen from the walls fifty years ago, he checked his doors.

The trap wouldn't trigger until she pushed open those doors. And once she found her bag missing…

Grinning to himself, he sat down at the table and picked up a book.

* * *

Once she hit the base of the ladder, she crouched down, searching the shadows. Vicente was nowhere in sight, only Arquen with another one of her headaches, seated at the tiny table and complaining to herself. All she had to do was get past her, into the living quarters, grab her bag and get out.

The first part of the plan went well. She got past Arquen, who at that moment refused to be roused by anything short of their Listener dancing about in women's clothing to the accompaniment of a dwarven brass band, and into the living quarters.

That was the problem. Her bag was gone. In its place she found a quick, well-done sketch of a smirking man. Vicente's version of a smiley face, she supposed, folding it up to shove neatly in one of her many pockets.

Off to face the beast then.

* * *

Vicente heard her coming and smiled to himself, pretending to be intent on his book, though every sense was bent towards May's approach. She hadn't even tried the trap door. Likely because it would have been the easiest to trap… or else, the easiest to catch her coming down.

As it was, she was walking right into his arms.

* * *

May glared at the doors and, deciding to make a dramatic entrance, shoved the open. No sooner had she done so then she found herself ripped upside down, a spring rope catching around her ankles and spinning her up and into the room to dangle from the ceiling.

Vicente looked up from his book only at the sound of her startled scream, that smirk firmly in place.

"Oh, hello. I didn't expect you to drop by for another hour yet."

He rose and leaned down to pick his amulet up from the floor where it'd been flung from her hand at the force of her capture.

"Nice of you to return it," he said, trying hard to keep a straight face as May sputtered and turned red. "But now that you have, I'll be off. I'm a bit hungry, as it were."

And with a short nod, he turned to leave the room.

"You dirty fetcher!" May shouted with a funny little wriggle, attempting to spin herself around to face him. "You nasty little cheat!"

"Cheat?" Vicente turned, smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "I wasn't aware we were playing by a set of rules."

"Oh, I'll get you!" She shook her upside-down fist, eyes narrowed. "Don't think you've won."

"Haven't I?" He couldn't help but laugh then. "I'm not the one hanging from the ceiling."

And May was very, _very_ glad she'd changed out of her skirt.

* * *

Vicente enjoyed this game of hers. It'd been a long time since anyone had dared to invite him to a competition on his own territory. She wouldn't win. After all, she was toying with a three hundred year old vampire who, in that time, had learned more than a few tricks.

But it was refreshing, to say the least. The chase, the hunt, the next trap, the next plan. Which was why he'd left her bag just barely within reach. She would, however, find a certain bottle had gone missing.

Spinning the bottle between his fingers, Vicente grinned and went off to find a murderer to terrify while he waited.

* * *

May was getting dizzy… and motion sick. As her rope continued to twist her around in circles.

_Door… wall… ladder… table… chest… bed… bag… door… _

Her bag! She could probably reach it. But as it was all the way on the bed…

"I hate you, Vicente," she muttered, rocking in her bounds like a manic worm, getting a good swing going. "Wretched, arrogant, beautiful man." She was getting closer with every backwards swing of the rope, though no doubt she looked like an acrobat act gone very wrong. "When I track you down, I'm going to _beat_ you… and then ravish you," here she attempted to grab her bag and missed. "And then _beat_ you again. And when I'm finally done beating you— _Aha!_" she caught the bag but her momentum was such that she couldn't get inside properly, let alone drink any of the contents. "I shall tie you up in a similar fashion and… and do something sufficiently cruel."

She'd slowed in her arc just enough so that if she held the bag at arms length she could dig inside. Still muttering to herself, she pulled out one of the pretty sky blue bottles, and with an awkward half twist, downed it.

* * *

Vicente grimaced at the taste, something like grass and orange peels and yet oddly like Greenglade tea. A moment later, his hands felt _tight_. Looking down, he found the skin of his palm shimmering slightly. Wondering if he'd actually taken the wrong potion, Vicente pressed his hand against the wall… And promptly got stuck.

It was possible he shouldn't have drunk the whole thing.

* * *

May shimmied up the rope that bound her and stuck to the ceiling, a rope between her teeth. After she was sure she had her grip, she released a hand from the ceiling and began sawing at the rope, taking off her boots once her hands were free. A moment later the knife was back in her mouth, her bag secured and safely strung across her back, with herself skittering across the ceiling.

She was careful to leave her boots on Vicente's bed, as she was fairly certain she'd stepped in dog shit as she ran off, and him without the courtesy to even _pretend_ at following her.

Once out in the hallway, she stopped and looked around for Vicente. Nothing. But upon loping out into the common area, she nearly fell off the ceiling laughing.

"Serves you right, you dirty fetcher," she gasped between breaths. "Don't take a potion you don't know how to use."

Somewhere along the line of trying to get free, he'd managed to stick his other hand to the wall as well, and so now was rather awkwardly looking over his shoulder at her.

"May, as your immediate superior, I—"

"Can't hear you!" May shouted before he could finish, doing her odd little run off into the training room where no doubt there lay a hundred opportunities to booby trap the hell out of him.

But Vicente was looking at the way she moved. She didn't pull her hand away from the ceiling so much as she _pinched_ it, breaking whatever suction the potion formed.

Vicente mimicked her, grinning as his hand came free. Toeing off his boots he scurried up the wall himself and finding it totally undignified but strangely exhilarating, followed her.

* * *

Arquen looked up from her table and groaned, massaging her temples. It figured, it really did. The Skingrad sanctuary had been hard enough to control, filled as it was with Bosmers, but at least there she'd had Fafnir— a huge Nord capable of keeping everyone _somewhat_ in check while she was gone.

Unfortunately, the man she'd thought capable of keeping this guildhall intact without her had just clambered across the ceiling after one of the murderers.

She sighed, digging her fingers in a bit harder. Not that it helped, really, but exerting pressure was therapeutic in its own way. Suddenly she was _really_ wishing everything was back the way it had been. She hated Lucien, yes, but he'd had his work cut out for him here.

But then, he'd only had the Listener to deal with, not sixteen Bosmeri killers who considered town wide hide-and-seek to be a perfectly legitimate endeavor, never mind the Brotherhood had a reputation to upkeep. Sithis, she couldn't even count the number of times she'd been forced to drag one or another of them from under the count's bed.

Frankly, she preferred _that_ to prying vampires from her ceiling.

Inside the training room, something crashed and Arquen put her head in her hands. Lucien could have this bloody guildhall, for Sithis' sake. She wanted to go _home_.


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: For the record, lets pretend **Evangeline is of mixed blood... **and not a frump-o-saur.

* * *

Lucien woke alone, pleasantly sore with a note atop his chest.

_You sleep rather soundly for a murderer._

He laughed at that and crumpled the note before setting about searching the room for his clothing. It was just then, naked but with breeches in one hand, he spotted the note pinned to the door.

_By the way, you'll be reporting to Vicente for your first contract. I'm sure with a little effort you'll make Speaker again in no time. Oh, and when you return to Cheydinhal, be a dear and tell Vicente he's in charge of the hall. I _will_ know if you don't. _

The note wasn't signed beyond a scribbled, smiling face with pointed ears. Lucien stifled an inarticulate bellow of rage, just _barely_ curbing his instinct to put a dagger through that insolent note.

_This_ was the thanks he got for training that bloody stupid arrogant fetcher of a… Oh bloody hell. There was another note sticking from a hidden pocket in the lining of his pants.

_Ocato doesn't like the thought of you roaming the halls armed, so I took the liberty of confiscating your weapons. _

_P.S. You're getting old, Lachance._

Murderer. Bloody fetching _murderer_. He should have known better than to think Sam wouldn't find some way to twist his words around.

"_Listener_," he growled to himself, dressing in a furious rush. "I don't care if he is Listener, I'm going to rip his fetching head off."

* * *

Vampires did sleep, May discovered, but only once they were properly tired out. Smiling, she curled further under Vicente's arm and listened to the sound of his heartbeat. It was incredibly slow and feather soft, sometimes minutes before she caught the beat again. But it was that pause, that slow stretch of time she found so comforting.

Vicente cracked an eye and smiled, pulling May just a little closer to him. It'd been a long time since he'd had decent competition, and longer still since he'd had anything worth pursuing.

Comfortably captured as she was at the moment, he had a feeling May was going to take a lot of chasing. And he couldn't be more pleased.

* * *

Ocato poured the latest potion into a bottle and laid a thin sheen of ice over the glass, adding another when that melted off. Sam was sprawled on the floor, bored out of his mind, a stack of books towering around him. There were a few papers laying around as well. Mostly notes that followed along the lines of _I hate you, you old fat man_ and _Why aren't my ears blue yet?_

Outside, someone was storming down the hallway and a good deal of shouting was being done. Frowning, Ocato set the bottle down.

"Does that sound like Evangeline to you?" he asked, headed for the door.

Sam sat up. Actually, it rather sounded like two voices to him, and he only recognized one of them.

Evangeline was the first to reach the door, slamming it open with a bolt of magic powerful enough to shake Ocato's alchemy equipment on the opposite side of the room.

"How _dare_ you?" she screamed, advancing on Ocato, a green fire licking at her hands. "Told me you _loved_ me, you dirty fetcher, and you're sleeping with this… this _child_!"

"I'm what?" Ocato steadied the table behind him, looking shocked and vaguely sickened. "Sweetheart—"

"Don't you bloody _sweetheart_ me!" This with a blast of magic that sent Ocato sailing into the next room. "You _pervert_! You filthy little lecher!"

Sam jumped to his feet, not sure what the hell was going on, but rather sure he was probably the cause of it. He turned, just in time to see the black figure standing in the doorway, shoulders squared, head down.

"_Murderer_, Samwane?" Lucien hissed, sweeping his hood off and striding in. "You made me _murderer_? After all I've done for you? You wouldn't _be _here without _me_ and you turn me to a fetching _murderer?_"

"Evangeline, I have no idea what you're talking about," Ocato pleaded from the next room, half drowned by the sound of broken glass. "Love, if you just calm down—"

"Calm? _Calm!?_ You want me to be bloody _calm_ when I find out you've been sleeping with the fetching Champion of Cyrodill?"

Torn between the angry murderer in front of him, and aiding Ocato against an angry battle mage, Sam wasn't really sure which way to go. But Lachance hadn't stopped in his stride across the floor and he was quickly getting backed into a corner.

Darting out and into the open, Sam snatched his quill and a scrap of paper up from the floor and began writing. A moment later he flew into Ocato's bedroom, wondering how one went about disarming a furious battle mage.

"Evangeline, please!" Ocato caught the vase thrown at his head and set it down carefully. "I swear to you, I haven't—"

"Liar!" there were tears tracking down her face, the green flame eating its way up her arms. "Filthy perverted liar!"

"Sithis help me, Sam, if you don't return my proper rank I will rip your fetching head off and damned if there's anyone that can send you back from _that_!" Lucien roared over the sound of Evangeline's screaming. "I _refuse_ to serve under the woman that _killed me!_"

Sam lost all patience in that moment. He screamed, an inhuman, ear shattering sound that stopped the room dead and sent its occupants crouching to the ground, ears covered. Something shattered in the distance and Ocato'd had enough.

"By the Nine, Sam! _STOP_!" he bellowed, suddenly towering over him.

Sam's mouth shut with a sharp _click_ and for the first time in history, the entire Imperial Palace was _silent_.

* * *

When Vicente woke up again, May was missing. As were his sheets. Which wasn't surprising really, seeing as how she always carried those around with her in the morning until she got dressed. Except her bag was gone. Frowning, Vicente sat up.

Or rather, attempted to sit up.

What he really happened involved more of a sudden jerk, a reversal of momentum and the realization that there was a small, single clove of garlic resting in his bellybutton.

Chuckling to himself, he lay back down in the comfortable divot he'd been sleeping in. He hadn't the faintest idea what time it was, but judging by the warmth of the mattress next to him, it hadn't been long since May left.

Oh, but the garlic was a cruel touch. Probably to keep him from tearing the rope. Even if he had the strength to fight it at the moment, he certainly didn't feel like moving.

Bloody garlic. He smirked and tried to buck it off, but she'd stuck it to him with some potion or another— likely with the dregs of the potion he'd stolen.

"Stop that, it won't do any good," May said, sweeping back into the room with a _very_ smug grin and an entourage of blankets behind her.

Vicente leaned back, pillowing his head with his hands, long hair sprawling out like a halo around him.

"Would you care informing me as to what all this is about?" he asked, with the slightest of smirks.

"It happens to be a very delicate experiment," May grinned, shedding the blankets and pouncing into bed.

"Oh?" It took all his effort to keep his face steady.

"I want to know," she said, leaning down until their noses were nearly touching, "if vampires get goose bumps."

Vicente laughed before he could stop himself, and knew by the wicked gleam in her eyes he was about to pay dearly for it. Grinning, he pulled against his bounds, watching as her eyes follow the curve of his shoulders.

"Do your worst."

* * *

Sam smiled in the silence and handed his note to Evangeline. She glared at him but took it anyway, looking between him and Ocato.

"What the hell is this?"

"Read it," Ocato said simply, sitting down at the edge of the bed to massage his temples. "I imagine it'll either explain things or insult your parentage."

Sam grinned. He'd forgotten about that particular note.

"I'll have you know Ocato is a hideous old man," Evangeline read, a slow smile creeping through her tears. "I wouldn't sleep with him if he was the only breathing creature left on Cyrodill. You think the age difference is perverse. I barely come up to his navel. I can't say as I enjoy the view overmuch. When he was younger, perhaps, but after seven centuries one gets a little saggy."

"Four centuries, thank you very much," Ocato muttered, not looking up. "And I am _not_ fat."

"Bad spell," she continued, frowning as the writing turned into an abrupt scrawl where he'd had to dodge Lucien. "Lost voice. Ocato helping."

Evangeline laughed suddenly, wiping the tears from her face before launching herself at Ocato. He held her, pressing his face into the crook of her neck with a bemused, slightly tired smile. By now, he'd grown used to her moods.

"There's still the matter of my _rank_, Samwane," Lucien growled coldly, cutting through the moment.

Sam glared and stalked back out into the main chamber, snatching up his quill.

_Rot in hell_, he wrote. _You'll take what I give you._

And Lucien went _white_.


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

* * *

Sam had expected a lot of things from Lucien. Screaming, for instance, or fighting. Possibly both. He'd expected there to be a great deal of insulting, bluff calling and general orneriness. He didn't get it.

Lucien's face went white and Sam was painfully reminded of being slammed against the wall, the man in front of him hissing, "_Should have killed me when you had the chance."_

But there was no attack, no insults, just silence the moment before Lucien turned on his heel and left, striding out of the room without so much as a rude gesture. Wary, wondering if he weren't walking into a trap, he followed him out into the hall. But Lucien ignored him completely, never once looking back, hands balled into fists at his side.

"Suit yourself," he muttered, closing Ocato's door behind him to return the man a scrap of privacy. "I can expel you again if you like."

_"Moody, isn't he?" _Eldamil snorted.

_"I don't trust him."_ Sam could _hear_ the frown in Martin's voice. _"He'll return."_

_"I don't know. That seems pretty final to me."_

_"I sincerely doubt that man has ever failed to get the last word in his life. He'll return."_

Sam shrugged and walked back to his borrowed room.

"I don't care. It's not as though he can kill me."

_"Can kill you or will?"_ Eldamil asked. _"I rather suspect there's a difference."_

Another shrug and Sam turned to look at the door, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips. He had an idea.

Ocato emerged from his rooms only after Evangeline had been properly placated which ended up taking two goes in as many hours, as well as a long bath and a bit of a cuddle. He found his latest potion had been reduced to a puddle on the floor, surrounded by shattered glass and had already set to turning the floor an alarming shade of blue.

Sam was conspicuously absent. A quick search of the boy's room revealed it also to be empty. There were scattered bits of paper and a rather alarming dent in the door, but no more. It wasn't until Ocato returned to his quarters that he saw the note staked to the outside of his own door.

* * *

_Very sorry to have inadvertently made a mess of things. Hope everything's patched up well. Unfortunately, this was too perfect of an opportunity to pass up. Know that I've escaped and will (possibly) return within the week. Have people to see, arrangements to make. Official business. As I said, I happen to be a very important person._

_ Tell Evangeline I think she's gorgeous when she's livid,_

_ Sam_

* * *

Ocato sighed and pulled the dagger free, wishing Sam's note-leaving techniques were not quite so dramatic. For that matter, if he could only keep the boy properly penned in... There was no doubt in his mind as to the nature of this official business and it rankled him that Sam could be so heedless of the danger he was placing them both in.

Ah, but there was one thing he could do. One thing Sam probably hadn't counted on.

"Evangeline?" Ocato asked with his very sweetest smile. "Could you do me an extremely huge favor?"

She looked up from her search for a decent book, still in her bathrobe.

"Ocato—"

"I promise, I will repay you in full." This with an unmistakable, devilish gleam.

Evangeline smiled, matching his mischief.

"What is it you need?"

* * *

Lucien was in the blackest of black moods. It was quite possible that this particular mood had never before seen an equal. Even Mankar Camoran in the middle of his worst day would have thought twice before intercepting the Speaker-turned-Murderer as he stormed off into the trees.

Damned if he was going to be a fetching Murderer. Serving under Vicente was bad enough, but he could have almost, almost tolerated it had Arquen not set herself up as mother of the guildhall.

There was no way he was about to do it. That ungrateful wretch of a Bosmer could take his stupid notes and shove them up his ass for all Lucien cared. He quit. He quit. He willingly quit.

He would not serve under a traitor. And that went for Sam as well as Arquen.

_How could he do this to me? My Silencer. My own gods damned Silencer._

He'd been willing to give up everything for him. To help him. Because Sithis knew he could sit back and watch the boy fail. The position of Listener belonged to him. Everyone knew that he would succeed Ungolim in the event of his death.

_Lording his power over me… We'll see how long he lasts, won't we? Bloody idiot._

Sam didn't know the inner workings of the guild. Hell, he'd only been in it for a little over two months. There was no way in hell he even knew the location of the other guildhalls.

_How could he do this? Sithis… I will not let that Altmer pig control me._

This was not a betrayal he could easily stomach. Let the boy find him if he cared. There was no way in hell he could stand back and allow himself to be used in such a manner.

_I worked my way through the guild. How dare he take my position away? Power-hungry son of a bitch._

Glancing up at the sign above the inn door, Lucien shouldered his way inside and away from the storm clouds threatening to break above him.

* * *

"Oh, shit," Sam swore, leaning low over Shadowmere's saddle and glaring up at the heavens. "Why does it have to bloody well rain?"

_"It's Martin's fault,"_ Eldamil offered cheerfully, reveling in the fact that he'd never be stuck on a cantankerous horse in the middle of a downpour wearing too-heavy robes again.

"Oh, shove it," he growled, and continued on, tired of the ever-present voices in his head… in the void. It didn't make any sense anymore and he was sick of it.

* * *

"I know this is an unusual request," Ocato said, turning to face the guard seated next to him. "But it is incredibly important to the safety of the empire."

Hieronymus frowned, leaning back into the horribly uncomfortable stone seat, absentmindedly stroking the place on his hip where his coin purse should have been.

"Your battle mages are not sufficiently trained for this… task of yours?" he asked carefully.

Ocato smiled.

"I assure you, you're the best one for the job."

"Alright." He sat up a little straighter. "What do you need me to do?"

"Bring back the Champion of Cyrodill at all costs. He's about to do something incredibly stupid."

* * *

_How could he do this?_

It was a never ceasing litany that beat against the backs of his eyes in time to the throb of the rain pouring down outside.

_Does he have any idea what he's done?_

He needed a plan. Something, anything to get back at the little wretch.

_Does he think I'll let it go?_

Like it or not, Sam was his. His servant, his Silencer, his _lover_. There was no way in hell he was going to let him get away with this.

Slowly, Lucien smiled, pulling free from his black mood. This could be dealt with like anything else. Sam wanted to play this way? So could he. And judging by the way last night had gone… well, the boy wouldn't be all too keen on losing him, would he?

_What would happen, I wonder, if I were to simply disappear?_

The smile turned into a wicked, self-satisfied smirk. Sometimes the best plan was simply to wait.

* * *

Sam stepped into the expansive basement, squinting in the candlelight. He could see Sinderion standing in the far back, completely engrossed in whatever experiment he was performing.

Smiling, just glad he'd caught the mer when he was actually at home, Sam strode forward, note in hand. Sinderion didn't notice.

Sam waited until he'd set what was possibly a highly volatile potion down before knocking on the table, laughing as he watched the Altmer jump.

"Oh, hello, Samwane," he laughed, scratching a hand through wavy white hair. "What brings you to my evil lair this fine day?"

Sam held out the note and Sinderion's smile faded.

"Did you lose another bet, Sam?"

_No, I have not lost another bet,_ the note said, rather accurately predicting the Altmer's question._ I've lost my voice. Help?_

"Well, that depends," he said, setting down the note. "How did you lose it? Is this a backwards spell or a poison?"

Sam stole his quill, writing another note under the first.

_Long story_

"Well." Sinderion smiled. "I've got the count's potions yet to make, so you've all the time you need."


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Whoot. This chapter should be fun. More May and Vicente!

* * *

May watched Vicente sleep from her spot at the table, feeling decidedly wicked and wondering exactly how far she could bend him. Already the scrap of ribbon he used to bind his hair was sitting next to her, accompanied by his necklace. She'd taken the bauble off its chain though, stringing a clove of garlic on instead as it never failed to rankle her lovely vampire.

Chewing absently on the end of her quill, she looked down at the parchment, trying to think of a suitable riddle.

* * *

_If you want your clothes, _

_Find out where tomatoes grow. _

_You may want to ask a Bosmer, _

_For though they often wander, _

_Surely one will know. _

* * *

Grinning now, she swept his things into her bag, a few of his favorite clothes included and snuck out of the room. He was sure to figure out the riddle if he stopped to think. Which meant it was only a matter of beating him there.

* * *

Hieronymus frowned, edging uncomfortably away from the huge black horse in the stables. She'd been eyeing him since he paid the lady to take his own stallion, and every time he took his eyes off her and looked back, he was _sure_ she'd come a little closer.

"Is that horse for sale?" he asked the Orc in charge

She grinned a mouthful of crooked teeth and shook her head.

"Only sell Bay horses here, sir."

"Whose is she?" he asked, dodging rather obviously when the horse leaned down a little farther than was strictly necessary. "I'm not sure if she likes me or likes the taste of me, to be honest."

Ugak laughed.

"That'll be Samwane's horse. Shadowmare, her name is. She's quite the character." And then to the horse, "Aren't you? Yes, you are. Let's get you fed and cleaned up nice, hmm?"

Hieronymus watched as she led the horse away. He couldn't help but noticed that it turned to look at him more than once. And her eyes were _red_.

It figured. Now, to find out where Sam was staying.

* * *

"That's quite the tale," Sinderion murmured once he'd finished reading Sam's description. "Loss of voice through somewhat divine intervention. I'm not sure I can do anything for that. Have you tried silence reversal potions?"

Sam stole the paper back and scribbled, _mean color blue, tastes like boiled hackle-lo leaves and guar shit?_

"Hackle-lo?" Sinderion frowned. "Why would Ocato have used… Oh," and then that smile was back. "Crushed pearls taste something like hackle-lo, I suppose. Did it burn the back of your throat?"

Sam nodded. It _had_ until the brandy scraped it off.

"That must have been what he used then. I'm not sure that would do it though. Pearls are only good for _certain _Silence spells, and seeing as how you've got the mother of them all…" he trailed off and set to muttering to himself, painting vague gestures in the air.

Sam smiled. It was nice to watch the man in his element, striding about, talking to himself, waving his hands in ten different directions.

Reminded him of Lucien, actually.

Lucien was a sight to behold when he started making his poisons. Of course, he had to make his poisons in the deepest level of Farragut as the fumes could knock out a horse if you weren't careful. But watching him…

He'd fly around the room, hair flying loose from its confines more often than not. Mushrooms kept well in the dark. As did heartwood, wolfsbane, holly berries— very expensive, imported from Solstheim. He kept ectoplasm in a large jar on the far wall with a ladle next to it that glowed no matter how many times Lucien ordered him to wash it.

He made the apples down there, said there was a skill to it. To throwing them in and snatching them out so fast they barely seemed to touch the vile soup at all. But Lucien's gloves were constantly burning through all the same, and Sam had forbidden him from touching food for fear of one or the other of them getting poisoned.

Accidental contamination had happened before. Luckily only with a minor potion that had turned the tips of his ears a pretty color purple. Lucien had refused to tell him what the potion was actually for, only that it'd been a complete, horribly _sticky_ failure.

Sam shook off the old memories and focused on Sinderion instead. Best not to think of Lachance. Especially when he was supposed to be angry with the man. As infuriating as he was, Lucien had an odd way of making people forgive him without their ever meaning to in the first place.

Ah, but he wasn't so much _angry_ with him as he was exploiting him to his full potential. Lucien had done it enough to him over the month or so they'd spent together. Turnabout was only fair play.

Sam grinned, remembering the indignant look on Lucien's face. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that he'd quit rather than return to Cheydinhal a murderer. His pride wouldn't allow it. He imagined he'd be getting a handful of hurt, nasty letters if Lucien knew where to find him. But he wasn't about to let that out at the moment because he'd had a hard enough time getting past the guards. Apparently Ocato was very intent on keeping him out of trouble and while he appreciated the sentiment…

A voice from upstairs stopped the thought dead in its tracks. He knew that oh-so-official timbre anywhere. Scrambling off the bed and over to Sinderion's desk, he scrawled down a note as fast as he could and shoved it towards him.

_I am not here. You haven't seen me in weeks. _

Sinderion frowned, both at his stream of thought being disrupted and the contents of the note.

"Why? Have you done something?"

Sam shook his head and waved about in a way that generally said _no time!_ A moment later he'd taken the note back and burned it and the others, dumping the ashes into Sinderion's scrap and peel bowl before taking the description of his ailment and hiding it behind a bottle of wine in the large racks that dominated the wall.

At the top of the stairs, the door opened and with an abrupt _pop_ Sam was suddenly invisible.

Sinderion reacted as though this sort of thing happened every day, smiling at the legion guard captain as he made his way down the stairs, out of armor but no less impressive.

"Hello, Captain Lex. What can I do for you?"

* * *

May felt _amazing_. She was loved. Not only was she loved, a three hundred year old vampire found her beautiful. And if that didn't swell her ego up to rival Lachance's, nothing would.

"Hello, Glarthir!" she called cheerfully, waving at the little Bosmer as he slunk out between a pair of large stones.

He furiously motioned her to silence, but as it wasn't the first time, she completely ignored it.

"How've you been? I haven't seen you in _ages_. Not since I got transferred anyway. Horrible place, Cheydinhal. No one has any fun." And then, laughing at the funny look on his face, "What are you doing?"

"_Come here_," he hissed, gesturing her forward before darting off behind the chapel.

May, with a bag full of Vicente's things slung over her back, couldn't be more pleased with the world. She skipped after him, completely oblivious to his frantic motioning that very clearly told her _get in the shadows, you idiot, they'll _see_ you. _

"People don't think you know anything if you walk out in the open," she stated with a big grin, wondering if Vicente had an allergy to wild flowers or if he'd be pleased to find them in his pockets. "That's how you trick them."

Then, deciding she'd put flowers in his pockets anyway, wandered off near the wall to pick some.

"Would you get _over here_," Glarthir hissed, motioning again.

May shrugged and moved to pick the wildflowers growing near the chapel.

"How's your day been?" she asked, conversationally.

"My _day_? Try my _week_. That Peneles bitch is _watching me_."

May, having lived in Skingrad, was used to this sort of thing. Diffusing the situation had become a sort of talent.

"I'll bet she isn't watching you, Glarthir," she laughed, looking up. "She's got a dead eye. It's probably just drifting off again."

_That_ stopped him in his pacing.

"A dead eye, you say?"

She nodded happily and continued picking flowers.

"It's the right one. It's constantly wandering off. She stargazes at night. Did you know that? Can you imagine how aggravating that must be to be looking for the Tower with one eye and looking through your neighbor's window with the other?"

He frowned and scratched the back of his neck.

"Don't let her fool you, May. She's a tricky one. She's been _following_ me."

"Oh!" May blushed and turned away.

Immediately Glarthir was crouched down next to her, a hand over hers to keep her from picking any more flowers.

"You know something," he insisted, leaning down to catch her eyes. "Did she confide in you? Tell you something? Did you see something… suspicious?"

"She made me _promise_ I wouldn't tell you. I can't." She giggled and pulled away, still red to the tips of her ears. "But I assure you she means no harm."

"What are you getting at?" he frowned stepping back. "Are you working with her?"

May sighed and pointed a flower at him.

"I will tell you. But only on the condition that you do not say _anything_ to her, alright?"

"What did she tell you?"

May crossed her arms, flower still peeking out and wiggling in a threatening manner.

"_Promise?" _

"Oh, all right. By the Nine, I promise. Now _what_ did she say?"

Grinning, May leaned forward and whispered in his ear,

"She thinks you're _beautiful_."


	30. Chapter Thirty

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: OMG. Chapter 30. O.O This is turning into a monster!

* * *

"I'm looking for a friend of mine, actually," he said, smiling, but it was the tone of voice that gave him away. He was being _very_ official. "The innkeeper said a red headed Bosmer had come down here. Have you seen him?"

Sinderion nodded.

"Ricktus came down, yes. Delivering my ingredients."

"Ingredients?" Hieronymus smiled and took a very slow step back, looking around the room without seeming to. "What are you making?"

"Oh, healing potions mostly to send up to the temple. I've just finished an order for the count, but my real passion is in rare ingredients. Tell me, have you ever seen the eye of a Grahl? They're incredibly rare. Very expensive."

"Is that what you've ordered?" he asked politely, still looking subtly into the shadows.

"No. No, that's just nirnroot. Still rare, but you can find it all over Cyrodill. I don't suppose you'd like to help?"

Hieronymus shook his head with a small laugh.

"The guard keeps me busy enough. I've only come looking for my friend. Thank you for your time."

And then he was back up the stairs. Sam listened to the door shut and faded into visibility just long enough to motion Sinderion to silence before slipping back into shadows and peering around into the stairwell.

Hieronymus had really gone.

Relaxing, he dispelled the illusion and returned to collapse on the bed.

"Why, exactly is he after you?" Sinderion asked, crossing his arms. "Who'd you kill this time?"

_That was an entirely justified accident, _Sam scrawled over the man's notes with his half hazard telekinesis. _He challenged __me__ to a duel. And Hieronymus isn't after me for murder. I wager Ocato's sent him off to collect me. And I do __not__ want to be collected. _

"Any particular reason?" There was a subtle sort of laughter in his voice.

Sam grinned.

_It's a secret._

* * *

Glarthir was silent. Dead silent. It was not something that happened often with him. May took advantage of it, spreading Vicente's clothes out on the grass to better fill his pockets.

"She… she finds me attractive?" he asked at last, very softly.

"More than that. She thinks you're b_eautiful_. Handsome. Enchanting. Perfect, I believe she said once."

"Perfect…" he whispered, the beginnings of a smile forming as he ran a hand through his hair. "You're certain?"

May nodded.

"She told me just before I was transferred. Made me promise not to tell anyone, so you better act like you don't know."

Glarthir laughed in pure happiness, a rarely heard sound.

"She told you this? You're positive you didn't misunderstand, perhaps?"

"Would she have sworn me to secrecy if she thought you were average and odd?"

His face fell suddenly.

"I suppose I am, though, aren't I? On both accounts." He frowned, sitting down in the grass. "I thought…" he shook his head. "She could _still_ be after me. This could be just to throw me off the scent."

"What makes you think that?" May looked up, slipping the last flower into Vicente's shirt pockets.

"There are others, you see. Toutius Sextius. Davide Surilie. I thought she was a part of it."

"Part of what? Your grand conspiracy?" May laughed and handed him a flower. "They're Dette's _friends_, Glarthir. They're watching to see if she talks to you. To be honest, we all are. Of course, we weren't any of us supposed to tell you that, but I don't want you going around thinking she's after your head when what she really wants is a bit lower."

Glarthir turned an alarmed shade of red and May laughed.

"Your _heart_, you dirty little pervert. Though I imagine once the other goes, the rest goes with it."

* * *

Sam frowned, picking up the quill.

_How long will your potion take? I can't stay long. Not if Hieronymus knows I'm in the city._

Sinderion frowned, disturbed from his muttering.

"Potion? Oh, yes. Your potion. Potions, to be more exact. I very much doubt I'll get it right the first try. So working on the assumption that every previous potion is incorrect, I'm sure I'll be able to find something that works. Or at least a combination of several potions that work. Your condition is incredibly unique."

Sam laughed.

_I take it they won't be done tomorrow?_

"Gods, no. It'll take a week at least. And only then if I have no other commissions. Seeing as how I'm doing you this favor, do you think you could deliver the count's potions for me? Just speak with Hal-Liutz, she'll show you in. Seeing as how you're mute, I very much doubt the count will mind your coming. Not going to spill his secrets, are you?"

* * *

"Whose clothes are these?" Glarthir asked after a pleasant hour of daydreams. "They look too large for you. And I'm fairly sure the shirt on the end is meant for a man."

May grinned, a wicked little imp.

"They are and it is."

Chuckling, Glarthir sat up.

"Whose are they?"

But she only grinned and shook her head.

"I can't tell you that. You'll ruin my evil plot."

"Do I know him?"

"No."

Silence sprawled between them.

"Do you think my hair's too long?" Glarthir asked after a long moment.

"I can cut it for you, if you like." May smiled and handed him a flower. "I've got," a glance up at the sun. "Oh, six hours or so."

* * *

"I don't know about this," Hal-Liutz said, frowning as she eyed the crate of potions he was carrying. "Sinderion usually brings these himself."

Sam frowned, and juggling the box to one side, pointed to his mouth, shook his head and squeaked.

"A mute?" she relaxed a little. It was common for nobility in the Black Marsh to keep mutes as servants. "Can you write?"

Sam smiled and very cheerfully shook his head no. He did _not_ want this to take any longer. He had to get out of the public eye before Hieronymus decided to question the count himself.

"Ah," she still looked uncomfortable with the idea.

Aggravated, Sam held the box out to her, motioning for her to take it up.

"No, I cannot. Count's orders. Sinderion is to bring these directly to him. I'm not sure what to make of you."

Sam scowled, made a decision and stalked up the stairs.

* * *

"Oh, my…" Glarthir blinked, looking in the mirror at May's handiwork. "I look… different."

"Devilishly handsome is more what you look." She grinned. It was true. His normally wild hair had been tamed into looking merely windswept, two playful strands of hair flying out to stroke against his cheeks, a braid tucked carefully behind each ear.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

"Do… do you?" Glarthir turned, an oddly hopeful look in his eyes. "Is this the sort of thing Bernadette will like, do you think?"

May grinned.

"If she doesn't drag you off to bed the moment she sees you, she's a mad woman."

* * *

"You aren't allowed up there!" Hal-Liutz shouted, sprinting after him.

But Sam had no intention of seeing the count in the day, especially since Vicente had mentioned his being… thirsty like. And he knew from experience, Vicente was never pleasant during the day. The last thing he wanted to deal with was vampiric _nobility_.

So he shoved the box into the hands of one of the guards that flanked the door and doubled back, sliding down the railing to get to the door. He had to leave Skingrad _now_.

* * *

Hieronymus was a very clever man. It was necessary when one chased after the Gray Fox. So he knew better than to assume he could find Sam in a city full of hundreds. No, he'd been hot on the trail when he'd spoken with the mad alchemist. And he could have _sworn_ he saw the bed dent as though someone invisible were crouching next to it.

So instead of finding Sam, he found his horse. Which wasn't hard, all things considering, as she rather liked him. He knew Sam well enough to know he wouldn't leave without the strange beast. Meaning the only thing he had to do now was wait.


	31. Chapter Thirty One

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Once more I am a sneaky thief! Janus drinks tea!

* * *

"Hello, Sam." Hieronymus smiled brightly, trying to keep Shadowmare from nipping at the seat of his pants and trying hard to keep _that_ from showing. "Ready to leave?"

Sam stopped dead in the center of the road, eyes narrowed.

_"That man has your horse_," Eldamil announced helpfully.

"I hadn't realized," he muttered, glancing back behind him, wondering how fast Hieronymus could run without his armor.

"Ocato sent me to collect you come hell or high-water. His wording, mind. Personally, I'd appreciate it if you came without a fuss."

Sam grinned, a wicked, sharp smile. Hieronymus sighed.

"I knew you were going to be trouble, Sam."

For his part, the Bosmer stayed exactly where he was, only brought a hand to his mouth and whistled.

* * *

"Should I talk to her?"

"No," May tried to sound firm, mimicking the authoritative frown of Vicente's she found so endearing. "Because I know you. The first words out of your mouth you'll be tattling on me."

"Well, then what should I do?" Glarthir was never more in his element than when he thought the world was out to get him. Suddenly, the world _was_ out to get him, but in an entirely pleasant way he found absolutely terrifying. "Should I give her flowers? Chocolate? She likes chocolate."

May frowned.

"How do you know that?"

Glarthir shrugged with a sheepish grin.

"Everybody likes chocolate. And I always see her with a box of Salmo's chocolate dumplings. You know the little ones with—"

"You've been _spying_ on her!" May laughed triumphantly, doing an odd wriggly dance. "Pot calling the kettle black, methinks."

"I had good reason!" he snapped, catching sight of himself in the mirror and returning to his former bewildered state. "Do you think I should bring her chocolates?"

"I think you should act like no one told you she's _in love with you_." May crossed her arms and glared. "Act normal."

"Normal?" Glarthir laughed, bordering on hysterical. "Normal. You tell me to be _normal_. Oh, that's rich!"

* * *

Shadowmere hated whistling. Lucien did it constantly and it irked her to no end. He whistled when he wanted her to come, whistled when he wanted attention, whistled for the hell of it annoying little tunes that inevitably got stuck in her head, repeating over and over as she ran. No, to say she hated whistling just wasn't enough.

Shadowmere _loathed_ whistling.

She reared back at the sound of Sam's incredibly irritating whistle, nearly crushing the pretty Imperial boy she'd found in the process. Hieronymus ducked and rolled out of the way, but by then it was too late. She'd startled the Imperial's horse, as it hadn't been really paying attention at all, and that was _not_ a good idea. A moment later he charged forward, meaning to head for his master, but as he was a little nearsighted and Hieronymus was out of armor, he made for the wrong human shaped blob and headed straight for Ugak.

Ugak dodged out of the way, off into the stables as the Imperial's horse cleared the fence in a dramatic leap. But the bay horses here were used to quiet meals and the occasional tavern song wafting over the city walls. Unaccustomed to dramatics as they were, they panicked.

_All_ of them panicked.

* * *

"Look, just act like you normally do." May stopped. "On second thought, let's try just acting like there's nothing wrong with the world."

"Nothing wrong? But Bernadette—"

"Isn't going to _eat you_. Only zombies do that."

"But vampires—"

"Vampires only nibble a bit." And it was quite pleasant actually. Not that she was about to mention it. "Now, if you wanted to be very sweet, you could try talking to her as she works. I'm sure she could use a bit of company working in the grape fields all day. It's extremely tedious. So don't irritate her. She might hit you over the head with a hoe."

Which happened to be the reason May was in the guild in the first place. It'd been entirely too hot, she'd been in the field entirely too long and the man in question had been very, _very_ annoying.

"You know, I'd like to finish a sentence or two," Glarthir grumbled, arms crossed.

May laughed.

"Get used to it. You'll never have to finish another thought with Bernadette."

* * *

Sam grinned, would have whooped and done a victory dance had he a voice. As it was, he settled for the victory dance, whistling all the while, until Shadowmere was attempting to trample _him_ but what with his mad victory dance was only really scaring the shit out of Hieronymus.

"Stop it, Sam!" he bellowed, getting to his feet just long enough to get knocked over and wedged between the sign post and the fence. "Knock it off!"

He darted out from where he'd been wedged, attempting to catch Sam and knock some sense into him. But he kept dancing around, one hand at his mouth whistling, the other involved in a series of rude gestures somewhat lacking without the aid of a carrot.

"By the Nine, Samwane!" Hieronymus spat and lunged, nearly getting him into a headlock, but as Sam was quite a bit smaller and entirely more flexible, he simply slipped forward, slammed an elbow into his crotch and sprinted some distance off.

And somewhere in the background Ugak was shouting for the guards, but Sam was now making faces at his horse as she snorted in pure equestrian rage, shooting off fireballs in the hopes of making enough smoke to mask his escape in all the havoc.

Unfortunately, the guards made it before he did.

* * *

Eldamil was laughing hysterically. Martin was doing his job as the voice of reason and giving him a long lecture on responsibility and damage of property, while Hieronymus shouted next to him, attempting to argue with guards that could not be argued with. And all the while Sam was trying desperately to kick the stupid fetchers holding him anywhere it'd hurt. Unfortunately, one was a Nord, the other an Imperial, so his feet were a good two feet off the ground and for some reason he couldn't quite manage the leverage he needed to knock their heads off.

Had he been paying attention to town gossip at all, he'd have known that Skingrad guards were extremely well versed in the carrying off of crazed Bosmers without the scoring of injuries to their person.

It was turning out to be an immensely irritating day.

* * *

Janus Hassildor stopped, the glass halfway to his mouth, looking at the manservant before him.

"_What_?"

"The Champion of Cyrodill has been arrested."

Alright, he was intrigued. Janus set the cup down on the table next to him, folding his hands.

"On what charge?" he asked carefully, wondering if this were some sort of joke.

"Disturbing the peace, sir," the manservant edged back a little, not quite liking the intensity of the other man's gaze. That and the fact he'd forgotten to blink. "There was an incident down by the stables involving him and a member of the Imperial City watch. They've _both_ been arrested, actually."

"So why bring this to me?"

"They're err… having a bit of _trouble," _he said, attempting to put it delicately.

Janus tried hard to stifle the smile but it was the first bit of amusing news he'd had all week.

"Trouble? With the Champion of Cyrodill in custody? I can't imagine why."

Rekin was a simple man. He'd applied for the job of manservant simply because it beat farming by a long shot, and so he was _not_ the sort of fellow that understood sarcasm.

"He's lighting things on fire, sir. He's already attempted to melt the bars, and he's given one of the guards a black eye."

Janus laughed, standing.

"You mean to say _my_ guards were not clever enough to keep an arms length from the bars?"

"Well, sir…" Rekin looked extremely uncomfortable. "He has a _shirt_."

* * *

Ocato sat hunched over his desk, pouring over the stack of books he'd smuggled from the Imperial Library. Those words _Taerose Kadule_ haunted him, whispering in the back of his mind as he drifted off to sleep, twining through his dreams. What _was_ he?

Champion of Cyrodill, clever little imp barely out of boyhood, with more power at his disposal than was normal, able to raise the dead with half a thought. It wasn't Necromancy, exactly, as he had the talent of catching souls, the exact soul for the correct corpse, rather than a half formed energy captured at the time of a death.

Or maybe that was it. Maybe he was looking in the wrong books. Ayleidic reference texts and old accounts of ancient healers. It was beyond _healing_ what Sam could do.

Perhaps… Perhaps _Taerose Kadule_ had _been_ Necromancy at one time. The correct form… until half trained acolytes with all the stubbornness but none of their masters' skills had gone their own way, raising corpses that would do their bidding. Servants without the useless worries that come with living creatures.

Ocato stood up suddenly, gathering up the borrowed books.

He was looking in the wrong place.


	32. Chapter Thirty Two

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: I wonder who could have made the mudcrab two legged. Hmm… XD

* * *

"Sir!" The guard started at the sight of the count making his way down the steps. "We didn't realize you were coming, we—"

Janus waved his hand, cutting the guard off mid-sentence.

"I highly doubt there's anything here I haven't seen before."

"Yes, of course, sir." The man flushed red to the tips of his ears. "I'll just unlock the door, sir."

Sidling around the desk like a funny, two legged mudcrab, the guard unlocked the door, picked up the shield setting just to the right of it and holding it above his head, made his way inside.

"Is that strictly necessary?" Janus asked after they'd made their way into the cramped hallway.

The guard glanced back at him.

"He's been pulling stones out of the wall, sir."

"Ah," Janus nodded, using most of his willpower not to smile. "Carry on then."

* * *

"I can't do this. I can't do it, May. I can't do it!"

Glarthir was pacing the room, hair fanning out neatly behind him with every turn.

"There's nothing to _do_ really," she said, smiling, wondering if Vicente had reached the city yet. "Remember what I told you?"

"Just be sweet. Act like you didn't tell me anything or you'll chop my head off with a rake."

"Good." She grinned, pleased. "And what are you going to say to Bernadette when you see her?"

Glarthir stopped, looking like a panicked rabbit.

"Hello?"

With a frustrated sigh, May banged her head off the table.

"And _then_?"

"You… look lovely?"

"No. You will not tell her she looks lovely, as she will have just come back from the fields and will be feeling decidedly un-lovely, thus assuming you are lying."

"What am I supposed to tell her then?" he shouted, eyes big as dinner plates.

"You give her flowers and ask to walk her home."

"And _then_ what?"

May sighed. She had her work cut out for her.

* * *

The cell held two beds, one pressed against the wall by the door, the other against the back wall and well within sight. An out of uniform Imperial solider was sitting on the latter bed, a shirt-less Bosmer sitting on the first. Janus couldn't help but noticing that both beds were slightly charred and that he could feel heat radiating from the bars.

"Interrupted your escape attempt, have I?" Janus couldn't help but smirk, before turning to the guard. "You're dismissed."

"Sir, I—"

"Go."

"Yes, sir."

Janus knocked the door shut behind him with a stray bolt of telekinesis, before turning his attention to Sam.

"What brings you here, Champion?"

Sam glowered at him and squeaked a string of what would have been profanities, gesturing towards Hieronymus. Janus laughed and turned to look at the man in question.

"Can you tell me how exactly the _mute_ Champion of Cyrodill was arrested for disturbing the peace?"

* * *

Vicente frowned at the collection of horses in the Grateful Pass stables. Shadowmare was currently sleeping, her head resting on the back of an Imperial Legion horse while nearby loitered a black horse he recognized as being stolen from the Cheydinhal stables. Making sure to keep his face in shadows, he paid Ugak money enough to keep his horse for a week before making his way into the city.

May's riddle, folded in his pocket, was beginning to make sense. No doubt she was in the sanctuary somewhere, along with Sam and any number of mad Bosmeri assassins.

Brilliant. He always loved a challenge.

* * *

The guard panicked upon seeing the count of Skingrad leaving with two prisoners in tow.

"Sir?" he asked, standing abruptly and not quite sure what was going on.

"I believe these two men warrant an exception to the rule." And, because Janus had a hidden mischief streak a mile wide, "But I'm taking the Imperial for questioning."

"Just… just you, sir?"

"I assure you I can handle myself." He smiled, latching a telekinetic leash onto Hieronymus. "Come along, gentlemen."

"With all due respect," the Imperial protested as he was led along, resisting the urge to throw something at the smirking Bosmer next to him, "High Chancellor Ocato sent me after this man. To simply allow him to leave—"

"I find Ocato gets his way far too often than is strictly necessary, don't you?" Janus asked with a smirk, and opened the door to the courtyard.

* * *

She'd spent far longer than Glarthir than she'd meant to. Vicente was probably already in the city and she had nowhere to hide, nothing set up, no traps, no plans, no tricks. May realized with a bolt of giggly panic, that she hadn't _planned_ this far ahead.

Fortunately, she didn't have to think of it much longer as a moment later a black-cloaked Bosmer barreled her over.

Her first instinct was to struggle free and kick him in the head, and she would have had she not paused long enough to recognize Sam's red hair amidst the mass of black.

"Sam!" she hissed, dragging him into an alleyway. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He glared, gestured to his throat and mimicked the drinking of a potion.

"Siderion? If Ocato can't fix you—"

Sam shook his head quickly, pointed to himself and summoned the wispy image of a man running away from something in the palm of his hand.

"Ah, you escaped from Ocato. Can't say as I blame you." She frowned. "Where are you going now?"

This time, Sam pointed to the moon before miming something that was either huge breasts or carrying a child.

"Night Mother? Well that makes sense I suppose."

He frowned then, catching sight of the tiny twin scabs on her neck where her shirt had fallen away after their collision.

"Ah, yes," May blushed red to the tips of her ears. "Vicente did that."

Sam gestured to her and mimicked fangs.

"No, I'm not, I just… Oh, bloody hell. I'm sleeping with him!" Even her neck was red.

Sam laughed until he doubled over, punched her in the arm and ran off. Some of her color receding, May crept around the corner to watch him go.

"Strange little Bosmer," she muttered and fished a potion from her back.

A moment later she was loping over the rooftops, on her way to the Skingrad sanctuary.

* * *

Lucien watched the forester dismount and delve off in the woods, intent on relieving himself and completely unaware of the invisible assassin stealing his horse. With a quick silence spell aimed at the horse's feet, Lucien jumped into the saddle and spurred the beast on.

Too easy.

But it didn't concern him just at the moment as he'd had a totally brilliant, utterly wicked plan. And it involved the Night Mother.

After all, he'd been a loyal servant of Sithis his entire life, as had his father. Surely she would not let one of her favored children fall from grace over something so petty as a misaimed shot that never actually hit home. If nothing else, she could talk some sense into Sam.

Sam… he'd taught the boy _too _well, it seemed. Sam had beat him at his own game, managing to get just what it was he wanted without really giving anything away. Because in the end, Lucien was either out of the guild or entirely humiliated and both were completely viable options.

Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to let Sam too near to Vicente. That was definitely the sort of strategy the vampire would teach.

_How to Trick Lucien Lachance. Lesson One. _

He sighed, pushing a wayward strand of hair from his eyes as he urged the horse faster. Far behind him, he could hear the forester cursing and shouting but there was no way he'd been seen and no way the man could outrun his own horse. Which was just perfect, all things told.

Things were going well. And now he was about to start a strategy of his own.

_Ten Reasons You Can Never Out-Bastard a Lachance_.

Reason one being of course that Lachances are notorious for their pure cunning, their remarkable insights into human weakness, their skill with blades of all sorts and their ability to twist a man against himself. And while his sisters were far wickeder than he could ever…

Lucien grinned suddenly, looking up.

_His_ _sisters_.

There was a plan forming in the mists of his mind so perfect, so utterly ingenious as to have never met a match before.

One Lachance was a formidable opponent. But four?

Samwane wouldn't stand a chance.


	33. Chapter Thirty Three

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Calipers!

* * *

Hieronymus glowered, jogging down the bridge that led to the city of Skingrad. The count had finally let him go, telling him in the end he simply enjoyed doing what he could to spite Ocato and that he was free to blame his failure on him should it come to that. The Imperial solider had rather stiffly informed him that he did not intend to fail before vaulting from the room.

Sam was coming back to the Imperial City come hell or high water and a vampiric count was not going to stop that. He smiled at that, shouldering through the huge oak doors. The count had made the mistake of thinking him as simple minded as the rest of Skingrad's guards.

And there was only one creature to his knowledge whose eyes looked like that. Add to that the ever so tiny scars on his neck and wrist. But he filed that information away, something to be used another day when it would gain him more than being thrown in prison for _disturbing the peace_.

He was halfway to the bridges that separated the halves of the town when three Bosmers dressed in black scampered across the road, two of them doing handsprings while the third shot sparks off into the sky.

"Bloody Bosmers," he grumbled to himself and continued on his way to the stables.

* * *

"Bloody Imperials," Sam muttered, angry at Hieronymus for being such a slave to duty, at Lucien for being so damn attractive when he wanted to stay angry with him, at having been in prison _again_, and at Shadowmere for attempting to violate _another_ Imperial steed and thus slowing down his escape.

All he wanted was to get to Bravil, squeak in the Night Mother's general direction and bugger off back to Cheydinhal where he could _hopefully_ find someone who could help.

In fact, he even had someone in mind. But considering that someone insisted on digging up corpses at all hours, he wasn't positive he'd be able to find him at all.

"Bloody Necromancers," he added for good measure, the thundering of Shadowmere's hooves oddly comforting. "And bloody Altmers too."

* * *

Lucien pondered on his course of action as the stolen horse rode on. He would have to see the Night Mother first, of course. If she restored his position, that would make everything all the more fun. Because then he'd have a way to drive Sam absolutely _insane_ without ever appearing to have orchestrated it at all.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

He grinned as he passed the signpost pointing to Bravil. He'd be there within the hour.

* * *

Sam glared at the signpost as he passed it, seeing it clearly out of only one eye as Shadowmere could no longer run in a straight line for some absurd reason. He was a good distance off still, but even at Shadowmere's erratic pace, he'd reach it in a little over an hour. That was good at least. Because it looked like it was going to storm again and the last thing he wanted was to be stuck in the rain staring up at a statue he was supposed to _speak to_ without actually having a way to _speak_.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. "This is just _perfect_."

"_Could be worse_," came Martin's oh-so-reasonable voice. "_You could be blind as well."_

"Always a little ball of sunshine, you are."

He could feel Martin shrug.

_"Simply trying to point out there _are_ worse things. You're functioning properly. You're _safe_. Losing your voice isn't so bad. You seem to be managing well without it."_

"Except that I have the Imperial Legion's best chasing after me."

Martin laughed.

_"I'm cheering him on, actually. If he can keep you from associating with this guild of yours, so much the better. Daedra worship is not something to take lightly, Sam. They can be dangerous. Believe me."_

"He's not daedric. Not really. He's more like the unsung god."

_"I'm sure Camoran felt the same of Mehrunes Dagon."_

"Sithis saved my life."

_"Can you be sure of that? For all you know, the Nine may have intervened."_

"Had it been the Nine, they'd given me my voice."

"_Or not. You've stopped to think without it, haven't you?"_

Sam glared at the road.

"Stop being so bloody logical. Even if I wanted to quit the Dark Brotherhood, I couldn't."

"_You always have a choice, Sam."_

"Not anymore," he muttered, one hand curling around his stomach, kneading into the link Sithis had restored upon his resurrection. "Not now that I've got this wretched little thing. I _knew_ I should have let him go. Considered it fate, or something. But I just couldn't leave well enough alone knowing he was… gone. I thought I loved him, so I went and leapt in after him."

_"Sounds like love to me,_" Eldamil this time, oddly soft.

Sam shrugged.

"If it was or not doesn't matter now. I don't have a choice now. I have this bloody stupid bond and it _makes_ me love him."

_"How can you be so certain that it's forcing anything? I doubt the Nine would have allowed its formation had you not truly cared for him," Martin said, his voice distinctly closer._

"I don't believe in the Nine. And Lucien's an arrogant, self-serving bastard," Sam snarled, roughly turning Shadowmare back on the road and away from the strangely horseless forester. "He'll do whatever he can to get what he wants and I _hate_ him just as much as I love him."

_"You didn't believe in the Guardians either," _Martin snapped, wounded. _"And you're wrong about people more than you like to think."_

_"He could love you," _Eldamil insisted, after a moment had passed. "_He could."_

"Lucien loves only himself. I just happen to be incredibly useful." Sam laughed, mood lightening. "And when did you two get to be such bloody romantics, anyway?"

* * *

Hieronymus slowed down, warily eyeing the Khajiit on the side of the road. He seemed to be having a very animated discussion with himself. One that involved the very fearsome waving of a pair of calipers.

"Are you alright, sir?"

The Khajiit stopped mid-sentence and looked up.

"M'aiq is having a theological discussion."

Hieronymus had to ask. His curiosity would kill him otherwise.

"Might I inquire as to the subject?"

"Dead people who are not dead."

Hieronymus grinned hopefully.

"Have you seen one?"

"M'aiq has seen many," he said, clicking the calipers in his direction. "Or perhaps he has not. Hard to say."

And then he was gone, walking back down the path waving his calipers and no amount of calling could bring him back. Hieronymus was still smiling though. Dead people who weren't dead.

Samwane definitely qualified.

* * *

May grinned as she crept down into the sanctuary, feeling like she'd come home at last. The hall was comfortable, and while still a basement, it certainly didn't look it. There were carpets and hardwood, fireplaces and torches staggered between tapestries. The entire sanctuary was well lit. It smelt of leaves and grass and rain and there wasn't an undead guardian in sight.

But then the sanctuary played host to a hoard of rather clever Bosmer and damned if they weren't a pleasure loving people.

Which was the entire problem with Cheydinhal, she decided. No one with a mind for comfort. Vicente slept on a _rock_, for Sithis' sake. And the beds in the commons room may as well have been the same composition for all the softer they were.

Muttering to herself about the lack of decent, level headed people, she shuffled off to the kitchens.

* * *

Vicente leaned around the corner as she passed, stifling a chuckle as she muttered to herself.

"And Sam's no better. His lover lives in a _cave_. Or a fort. Can't remember. Stubborn old fart _would_ live in a cave. That's just like him. Don't know where he'd put Sam though."

Vicente smiled. Brilliant, beautiful, utterly mad woman. He let her pass, musing on the situation. He hadn't actually expected she'd come here. Not if she was at all trying not to be caught.

Which meant there had to be a trap of some sort in the vicinity for her to feel so bloody confident.

But then, it was simply possible she _knew_ she'd thwarted his every plan with her being here at all. Clever, beautiful little half-breed imp.

He crept around the corner after her, doing his best to step where she stepped without being seen.

And then she started _dancing_.

It was absolutely absurd what she was doing. He couldn't make heads or tails of it. It was like she was purposely shimmying in circles. Laughing at his own gullibility, Vicente strode forward, meaning to catch her from behind and work his way from there.

He hadn't considered the possibility of a method to her madness.

May spun with a half stifled squeak at his startled shout, glaring when she saw who it was suspended form the ceiling.

"You _ass!_" She punched him in the thigh, setting him spinning. "You scared me!"

Vicente closed his eyes. Bloody Bosmers.


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: The color he's seeing is octarine. Let's see if any of you are clever enough to catch where _that_ comes from.

* * *

Lucien was the first to reach Bravil, having had the advantage of a head start. This was, he knew, a massive breach of decorum, but hopefully worth it.

"Most revered Night Mother," he started, kneeling down before the statue. "I—"

"No." Quite abrupt and to the point.

Rattled, Lucien looked up.

"Pardon?"

"I know what you seek and my answer is no."

"I have never given the guild reason to doubt me, and yet I have been expelled."

"I allow my Listeners to choose their own course and will continue to stand by their judgment."

"And if their judgment is wrong? If that course leads to their destruction?"

She laughed like tombstones thrown together.

"Note Ungolim, whose arrogance led to his demise."

"But Samwane—"

"Is a favorite of Sithis', my child."

"But to expel me? To reinstate me as _Murderer_. I have proved my skills, my loyalty to both he and the guild a hundred times over."

"Perhaps." The word was slow in coming. "But rarely do you work free of your own selfish motivations. The Dark Father wonders if you could not communicate more effectively with your Listener with no voice at all. Silence can speak volumes."

Lucien grit his teeth. There was no phrase he hated more than that one.

"Forgive me, Night Mother. I will seek my peace with him."

More like he'd release the harpies that masqueraded as his sisters and watch as they tore him to pieces.

"Leave me now," she said simply. "I tire of this nonsense."

Lucien frowned, pulling up his hood and creeping away. Her dismissal brought certain questions to mind. Namely, how close at hand was Sam?

Hiding in the shadows of what was recently Ungolim's house, he waited.

A half hour later he had given up. Just as he was about to rise and shake the cramping from his leg, he saw a small black shape making for the statue.

_Why is it, I wonder_, he mused to himself, _are all the Night Mother's favorites Bosmer?_

* * *

"Greetings, Listener," she purred as Sam reached the statue.

"Night Mother?" it was a feeble, tentative approach, not sure she could hear him and not wanting to wake his new voices of reason.

"At ease, my son. I may listen in all directions and your voice is dear to me."

"Could I have it back then?" he asked.

The Night Mother laughed and it was pleasant, like chimes in the wind.

"No, my son. In chaos there is reason."

"I thought as much." He sighed. "Are there contracts?"

"Always. Listen closely, my son, for there are many that have prayed to the Night Mother in your absence."

* * *

Lucien watched from the shadows, hearing fragments of an ethereal voice and oddly bits of Sam's. His voice sounded still like a rusted hinge, but every now and then a word would break the noise.

"Can't… ass… deserved… love."

It was the mention of love that startled him. To hear Sam's voice curled around the word sent an odd, increasingly familiar pain through him.

_He's mine. I've claimed him. That bruise on his shoulder, the other on his neck, that freckle, that scar. Mine._

He leaned in, risking his shadows to hear what little he could parse.

_"_Want… Ocato… understand… love… conceited."

The pain increased ten fold.

_Ocato_.

He'd known. He'd known they were sleeping together. The thought shouldn't crush him so totally. But to imagine _his_ little imp writhing under that ancient, Altmer lecher…

Lucien took a deep breath through his nose, forcing the pain away.

Any situation could be conquered given enough time and resources. And he certainly had both.

In the distance, Sam bowed and turned away from the statue. Lucien watched, feeling like he was a hundred miles away and couldn't quite bring himself to care.

_Mine… he's mine… he knows he's mine._

It was going to take him ages to get to the Old Home from here. He needed to leave. Needed to leave before Shadowmare recognized his smell on the new horse he'd taken to riding, needed to leave before Sam caught sight of him, before this wretched bond reacted to something and gave him away.

_I can't let this go on. Anyone but Sam. My Sam… I swore I'd protect you._

But just at the moment, he really couldn't move. Just bracing himself again the wall was an effort. The pain in his stomach was reaching epic proportions.

_My Sam… mine. Swore I wouldn't let anything happen…_

It'd never been like this before. A twinge or two, perhaps, never enough to double him over. But now… Sithis, he'd never felt pain like this.

_I'll kill him. I'll kill him. Let them chase me. Let them try to catch me._

There were colors dancing in front of his eyes, beautiful hues he had no words to describe.

_I can change my face. I can change anything. I can kill him in his sleep. I can stab him in the back. I can drown him with a spell. I can slip poison in his tea. _

Vaguely, he wondered if Sam was experiencing the same and felt oddly guilty.

_My fault. Everything my fault. Everything… falling._

He felt like he was falling, the colors spinning now, rattling around him until he couldn't see a damn thing. A spell occurred to him, a simple twist of the fingers, a blue light. He had to try twice before the pain lessened, a cool numbness sliding in its place.

He couldn't feel anything. Not the pain in his stomach or his hands fisted in the dirt. Carefully, he arranged himself and stood, making sure to keep all his limbs in sight. He'd forget where he'd left them if he wasn't careful, and that tended to leave odd bruises and burns in the morning.

_Have to find Sam. Have to make sure I didn't…_

Lucien crept around the corner slowly, keeping in the shadows as he followed Sam's path.

There was a black bundle collapsed in the middle of the road, totally still. He hadn't expected it, and it'd hit him all at once, drowning him in a tidal wave of painful colors.

Looking at him, Lucien felt a low keening ache in the pit of his stomach. But nothing more. Picking his way over, he checked his breathing before scooping him up, making his way to the closest inn.

* * *

Gilgondorin frowned seeing the man enter, strange Bosmer shaped bundle in his arms.

"Found him in the road," his voice was a low, strangely persuasive growl. "Have anywhere I can put him?"

"Rooms are twenty gold a night," he announced, feeling guilty as he said it, telling himself it was just business.

"You're certain?" There was a glimmer of power in that voice, a veiled threat, a whisper that said _you want to keep this man a friend._

"Considering the circumstances, I suppose I could do ten."

The stranger smiled, a simple moving of muscles that never touched his eyes.

"Show me the room."

Gilgondorin nodded and beckoned him up the stairs, showing him into the first room. As soon as he was free of his burden, he checked the lock on the window, opened it to look out into the alley as though judging the climb. Shutting and locking it once more, he moved to the door, locked it before pulling a strange looking key from his pocket. Gilgondorin watched as he fiddled around a moment, unlocking it within the span of a few seconds.

"Can I help you at all?" he ventured, wondering at this mad display if he hadn't agreed to a room for a thief.

"It'll do, I suppose," the man said at last, after he'd satisfied his curiosity as to the weight of the chest of drawers. "Here's your money. Now _go_."

Something in that last word compelled him, and he was halfway down the stairs before he'd realized that he moved.

Strange lot, Imperials.

* * *

Lucien shut the door behind him, hefting Sam enough to remove his outer layers before slipping off his boots and putting him to bed. The room was not the best, but considering the choices, he rather doubted he had much of an option. He'd entertained thoughts of leaving him in Ungolim's house, but knowing the man, he had one or two hundred deadly traps lying about in his absence.

Lucien stopped in his flurry of activity a moment, looking down at Sam.

_Mine…_

But it was only a whisper now, accompanied with no pain. He wanted to stay, to shove that dresser against the door and hold Sam to him until he woke. But he very much doubted the boy would take well to that. And besides, he couldn't show a scrap of weakness to the insolent wretch. He _needed_ his position, and for Sam to know just what sort of a man he was toying with here.

He forced himself away from the bed, locking the door behind him on his way out. Then, with one hand against the door, he forced his telekinesis inside, curling a tendril around the base of the chest of drawers.

It took a good five minutes to move it into place. But once it was set, there was no way the door would open.

* * *

Gilgondorin looked up as the stranger walked back down the steps towards him. Smiling his brightest, most profession smile, he turned to meet him.

"Need something more? Wine perhaps? A biscuit while you wait?"

"I'm not waiting. We're not on the best of terms," this with a nod to the room above. "If he asks, tell him it was a woman that brought him here. Sandy blonde."

"Well, that's certainly an odd request." Gilgondorin frowned. "Does this woman have a name?"

"Not one I'll tell you."

And then the strange man was gone, sweeping out into the night. Gilgondorin frowned, picking up a cloth to wipe down the bar.

_Very_ strange lot, those Imperials.


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Pheonica's chapter!

* * *

May was not too keen on letting him down, apparently, as a half hour later all the blood he possessed had pooled to his head and Bosmeri killers were filing in, giggling as they danced past him.

Stupid, really to think they _wouldn't_ have an absurd trap of some sort. It was practically outlined in their nature.

"May," he called piteously, having lost his dignity somewhere after the sixth dancing Bosmer. "I shall never speak to you again if you don't let me down. You'll fail as an assassin."

He heard barely stifled giggling from all corners and felt absolutely ridiculous. Had the rope caught around both ankles, he could have swung himself up and untied it. But it'd only caught one, unfortunately, and his other leg was beginning to ache.

"Didn't you bring your sword?" May asked, peeking around the corner.

Vicente glared at her, arms crossed. He'd had it strapped to his back when he came down, but being the wrong side up had altered that a bit. He was far too high up to reach it. Though even had his head scraped the floor, it was three feet away.

"May, get me down."

"Why didn't you dance?"

"_May_."

But she was grinning, very smug in his success, dancing around him to better look him in the face.

"Why didn't you dance?" she asked, punctuating each word with a poke to the chest. "You were obviously following me, so you must have seen me dance."

"I do not dance. And could you not have invested in a guardian?"

"Guardians _stink_," May said, crinkling her nose.

"Not nearly so effective either," came a new, authoritative voice.

Vicente smiled, recognizing the woman before he saw her.

"Hello, Sabine. Good to see you made it back from Solstheim."

May had never seen the woman before, but she was _beautiful. _Dark hair had been pulled back into a no-nonsense bun; her eyes, both green and brown glittered with some left over enchantment. Powerfully built and gracefully aged, she did not look like a woman to tangle with.

"Hello, Vicente." There was something vaguely familiar about this woman's purr of an accent. "What's this nonsense about my brother coming back from the dead?"

* * *

It was hard riding in the opposite direction when Lucien wanted nothing more than to curl up next to Sam as he slept.

_With Ocato… he's slept with Ocato. What a taint. _

To hold that slim little body to him again, to keep him close, to know that Sam was his.

_He's mine. I'll make him mine. I'll win him. _

Lucien clenched his teeth and pressed on harder. This horse was by no means Shadowmare's match, but fast as far as legion horses went in his experience.

_Samwane. Perfect little imp… _

_His_ perfect little imp. Sleeping with a lecher of an Altmer. Lucien closed his eyes a minute, forcing away that haunting image in favor of something better.

_Sam, exhausted, asleep in _his_ bed, pretty little nose scrunched at something in a dream._

It was a flickering, fading thing, but it comforted him.

_Act like a man,_ something hissed at him. _Pining after that Bosmer like some forgotten woman._

A deep breath, Vicente's trick— in through the mouth, out through the nose.

Lucien set his jaw, pressing everything away until he was blank. A tired old assassin's trick. Become inhuman to kill a human. It'd served him so well in the past it'd _become_ him. He was cold, remorseless, sensual, carnal, and never, _never_, did he pity or regret. Guilt was foreign, an enemy he'd never had to face.

And all it took was a single, grinning Bosmer to shatter all that. Only a boy who took pleasure in painting on his guardian's skulls, in putting perfume in his sheets so he reeked the next morning… simple little things, but they meant the world to him.

How long since someone had been brave enough to toy with him?

Since someone would fight him without fearing his wrath?

Since someone could _face_ that wrath and still steal his every ingredient the next day?

How long since someone had refused his bed in favor of another's?

How long since he'd lost a lover to a mer centuries older?

The Old Home was still hours away, he noted, stirring from his thoughts long enough to see the road. He had miles of this torment yet.

_How old is Sam? _

The thought gave him pause. As a Bosmer, he could be anywhere from eighteen to two hundred. There was no way of knowing. It was fully possible Sam was a child twice his age.

Lucien smiled at the thought, at the contradictions that made up his whirlwind little Bosmer. It was odd… odder still the fact Sam could call back the dead. How long did a creature like that fight death?

His mate, Ocato had said. Possibly forced by circumstance but _his_ nonetheless. What happened after twenty years? After forty? When he died again, in permanence, what happened to Sam?

Would he drag him under?

The thought comforted him in its selfishness. Perhaps in forty years, he'd lose whatever scrap he possessed capable of captivating an elf. But in death…

In death there was nothing Ocato could offer that he could not.

* * *

Sabine laughed, leaning back in her chair.

"That little Bosmer of his? You're certain?"

May nodded, grinning at the woman's contagious laughter.

"He had a hell of a time carrying him. Lucien's nearly twice his size."

"He has grown rather too fond of sweets in his old age, hasn't he?" she smiled, chuckling to herself. "And Samwane has the gift? Odd that he carries a woman's magic."

May shrugged.

"Could be he's simply the first man smart enough to use it."

"I resent that." Vicente played wounded, but the smile ruined the effect. "Keep in mind neither of you have ever managed—"

"Yes, yes, Vicente," Sabine waved him off with a smile. "We can't all be three hundred year old men blessed with vampiric strength."

May giggled.

"A three hundred year old man that gets himself suspended from the ceiling."

Laughing, Vicente leaned forward from his seat to tug lightly at one of her errant curls.

"May I remind you who it was recently dangling from _my_ ceiling?"

"It's not polite to hang innocent young maids from the ceiling, you ass," May said, hiding a smile as she slapped his hand away.

Sabine tossed back her head as she laughed.

"You two are precious. Absolutely perfect. Nice to see you finally found a woman to give you back your own, Vicente."

* * *

Hieronymus finally reached Bravil, grumbling to himself about temperamental horses and idiotic highwaymen. He was limping where his horse had thrown him at the sight of one, dressed in such an outlandish hodgepodge of armor as to be absolutely ridiculous.

_That_ one had run off, shouting something about mudcrabs he wasn't entirely certain applied to him. It was a mile further down the road where he'd caught up with the rest of the mad group he'd run into trouble.

Or rather _they'd_ run into _him_ and _found_ trouble.

Hieronymus frowned at the huge black horse in the stables. There was no question to it. She was most certainly Sam's. But she was different today, anxious. Barely gave him or his steed a glance, only continued on staring at the gates, prancing from one end of the corral to the other. She was eerily intelligent, he knew. For her to be acting like this meant something had gone wrong.

Hand straying to his sword out of habit, he made his way in through the gates.

"Excuse me," he said to the gate guard in his most official bark. "Captain Lex of the Imperial City guard. I'm looking for a certain Bosmer."

"Yeah?" The guard looked up before he could properly finish. "Red hair? All in black?"

"You've seen him."

"Aye. Collapsed in the road a few hours past. Some other bloke in back collected him before I could."

That explained a lot.

"Where's he taken him?"

"Off in there," he nodded towards Silverhome-on-the-Water. "Came out without him. Figure he's got the boy set up in there."

"And he's gone?"

"The Bosmer? No, still in there far as I can tell. His friend's gone off though."

Hieronymus smiled. His job had just gotten intensely easier.

* * *

Sam woke up dazed and confused, staring at the ceiling of an inn he didn't recognize. There was a chest of drawers shoved up against the door, windows locked, his curtains drawn.

He didn't remember doing any of it.

What he remember was a sudden burst of white hot pain, vision destroyed in favor of beautiful, vibrant colors, the second before he passed out.

"I don't think you understand," he heard from outside. "I'm under orders from the High Chancellor himself to return this man."

_Hieronymus_. Silently, he stole from the bed, shoving on his boots and cloak.

"Sorry, sir. But I have a policy to upkeep. No one disturbs the guests."

Quickly as he could, he made the bed. Let Hieronymus think he'd been wrong— that the room had been empty, only strangely barred.

"Sir, if you do not remove yourself immediately, I'll have no choice but to put you under arrest."

"All this trouble over a man that may not be here. How can you be so certain _this_ Bosmer is the one you want?"

Sam unlocked the window and scrambled out onto the very convenient trellis.

"Gilgondorin, by order of—"

Shutting the window on what was probably the poor Altmer's arrest, Sam cloaked himself in shadows and slipped off into the night.


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Wheeeee! Confetti!

* * *

The bloody Altmer had finally recanted, but only under threat of sever bodily harm. Hieronymus rammed his shoulder into the door, cursing whoever's foresight it'd been to block it. 

Bloody Bosmers.

The door gave a little under his weight, something crashing to the floor inside.

Bloody Altmers.

Another shattering attempt at unblocking the door and the hinges were beginning to give way.

Bloody random Imperials carrying off the bloody Bosmer he was after.

The door finally broke, crashing down to balance like a scale over the still unmoved chest of drawers.

The room was empty. Or rather, _looked_ empty. He'd been in the watch long enough to know they weren't the same thing.

Sword out, he stared slowly around the room, straining for a shimmer of magic or the whisper of cloth.

"Stand at the door," he barked without turning. "Let nothing past."

"He's not here. The room's empty."

"_Looks_ empty."

"Often you'll find it's the same thing."

Hieronymus glanced back in time to see the purple mist around his head fade away.

"Detect life?"

Gilgondorin glowered.

"Empty room. Broken door. Idiot guard. Do you make a habit of speaking only two words at a time?"

Hieronymus ignored him and went to the window, sheathing his sword. The ivy had been disturbed. Sam was long gone.

Turning to leave, he found an irate Altmer blocking the door, a rather painful looking frost spell arcing between his fingers.

"You owe me a new door."

* * *

May painted idle patterns on Vicente's chest, musing on her next plan of action. She needed something clever, something so incredibly brilliant as to leave Vicente amazed in the dust. 

Grinning, she waited as a ghost of a plan began to form. There were certain things Bosmers were simply naturally immune to. Potions on the market that set people ablaze often only made her eyes a little shiny.

Vicente would never willingly ingest a potion he wasn't completely sure the use of.

Slowly, May smirked.

There was _always_ more than one way to catch the clever cat.

* * *

Shadowmere was being unusually pleasant. She took great care in staying on the road, she'd actually ignored a forester and his horse and had quite calmly crushed a bandit beneath her hooves before he could open his mouth to demand money. 

Absurdly grateful that his horse was acting like a proper member of Brotherhood transportation, Sam rode on towards Cheydinhal. He didn't look forward to seeing Arquen again.

Hopefully, she'd be sleeping when he arrived, so his leaving a note would seem polite rather than unusual. The last thing he wanted was to explain his current situation to her. She'd probably attempt to take over the entire guild under some made up clause or another.

What he'd really like, unfortunately enough, was Lucien. There was really no denying he missed the man. His heat, his sarcastic arrogance, the comfort of knowing _here is a man that can match me blow for blow._

It was that sarcastic arrogance keeping him away, no doubt. He'd been beyond pissed at _Murderer_. He'd be planning something now, a trick or a ploy that would force Sam to return him to Speaker.

He would, eventually. He knew better than to think he could keep his end of the game up indefinitely. Gods knew when a Lachance wanted something…

Sam sighed and focused on the road, that wretched ache creeping back into his stomach.

What would it be like, he wondered, for a Lachance to want _him_?

It was an idiotic, too sentimental thought. The only Lachance he'd consider bedding wanted him only for what he could give him.

It figured.

* * *

Creeping out of bed had been disappointingly easy. Once properly tired, Vicente slept and he slept hard. 

_Like the dead_, she thought with an ironic twist of the mouth as she set about brewing her potion. It was a simple brew. Only a few ingredients. But it did what it was supposed to. No fuss, no muss.

She grinned as she set the crushed leaves and flower petals to the flame, slowly adding in the broth she'd made from glow dust. Once it had all combined, she couldn't help pausing for a quick, secretive victory dance before bottling.

Juggling it between her hands in a mad attempt to cool it, she nearly panicked at the rustling in the next room.

Vicente was up.

Risking a nasty burn, she iced her mouth and downed the contents of the bottle, shoving a few nightshade flowers into the open flame to mask the perfume scent.

"May?" Vicente stepped into the room, nose wrinkling at the acrid scent of charred nightshade. "What are you doing? Come back to bed."

She flashed a sweet smile and turned back to her equipment.

"I couldn't sleep."

"So you set to making poisons?" he laughed, coming to wrap his arms around her from behind, pulling her into a backwards embrace. "I can help you, you know," he murmured, lips just brushing her neck. "I'm _very_ good with insomnia."

"Mmm?" She leaned back into him, groaning at the sharp pressure, pain and blinding pleasure of the bite, sinking further into him until she felt she'd disappear.

A moment later Vicente had staggered back, eyes dark, breathing heavy.

"What did you do?"

May laughed, breathless and lightheaded.

"I imagine you'll find out shortly," she said, trying hard to keep a straight face. "Unfortunately, just at the moment, I'm feeling rather tired."

"Oh, you wretched little minx," Vicente growled, torn between laughter and desperate arousal.

May grinned. Aphrodisiacs were wonderful things.

* * *

Ocato stopped. He'd found it. The passage he'd been looking for was here, in the oldest of tomes. Difficult to translate the old language. Difficult still to pry it from the ancient pages. But it was here.

* * *

_There came a time when woman's magic was far too valuable in the field of war to remain in the houses of man. The lives of the Kadule could not be risked in petty games of war and so a number of men found to possess the proper spark, entered themselves into their service._

_Kadule are not a gentle breed. They will fight without a thought, killing whomever they deem unworthy. Many men, initiates, died in such service, found lacking by their masters._

_Angered by this treatment and the needless loss of men, the initiates broke free of their bonds of servitude taking what knowledge they had gleaned to raise their comrades. Only they knew not how to call to a soul, the song to draw it forward, nor how to separate from body to wade through the mire of death. They used force, and in the animation of the body, any hope of a soul's return was cast asunder. They had failed in their final, and most important task._

_The Kadule, insulted by such desecration of their teachings, renounced these men, naming them servants of death— Necromancer. _

_But these men were not disheartened. They did not learn from their mistake. They found the raw power of a ruined body to be to their liking and soon used their mindless hoard to wage war against the Kadule themselves._

_It was a slow and bloody battle. Many Kadule, many men, were lost. For where a necromancer may raise a corpse to his degenerate liking, soulless and barbaric, a Kadule must find the soul belonging to the body. Such a search could not compete with the ease and recklessness of the Necromancers's quick work._

_In the end, the Kadule fell. The war was lost._

_But few escaped the carnage, bearing many daughters in the eras following. And while the original teaching have been lost, the soul of the Kadule live on._

_Peer into the eyes of a fire-tressed woman. Find there the gleam that power brings, and you will find the remnants of the true Kadule._

_

* * *

_

Ocato leaned back, feeling absurdly close to laughter.

_Taerose Kadule_

Red-haired woman


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

* * *

Stupid bloody Hieronymus. Stupid bloody Ocato for sending him. The man knew they were friends, knew that he'd send anyone else back in pieces, but for Hieronymus, he fled.

Son of a fetching cliff-racer _whore_.

Sam glared at the road.

When he got back to the Imperial City, he was going to tie Ocato up from something very, very high. And then, when the man failed at getting down, he'd… laugh. Or something. He wasn't really quite sure what one did in a situation like that. How often did one manage to hang the High Chancellor from the tip of White Gold Tower, after all?

Shadowmere reared, nearly knocking him off as she sent a lunging kick into the head of another bandit, continuing on without a pause.

Bloody Lucien, being so damn perfect.

Bloody Sithis, not giving him a voice.

Bloody Arquen, _existing_.

Sam glared at the road, and crushing all thought, continued on.

* * *

He'd known it was going to be difficult finding the man. More often than not he was trolling for the recently dead and when he wasn't, he locked himself inside his quarters.

Sam sighed and pushed his way into the mage's guild, a bushel of notes in his hand. Handing one to the uncomfortable looking Argonian, he cocked his head.

"Falcar?" she asked, after having read the note. "What business do you have with him?"

Sam frowned, gestured to his mouth and then to the notes.

"I'm not so certain he can help you with that."

He glanced around before gesturing back at his note.

"Yes, well," she looked more flustered now. "He's in his rooms but I doubt you'll get him out."

Sam grinned, but the Argonian only shook her head.

"Be careful."

Be careful? He snorted as he walked downstairs. He was only going to see one of the most powerful necromancers he'd ever known. What was there to be careful of?

* * *

Sam knocked at Falcar's door, shifting from foot to foot.

"Were my instructions not _simple_ enough for your tiny mouse of a brain? I am _not to be disturbed!_"

Smiling to himself, Sam leaned down to slip a note under the door.

_Do you find healing a corpse before or after resurrection works better?_

A second later the door was ripped open, Falcar looking extremely harried and more than pissed.

"What is the meaning of this?" the note was a pile of charred ash in his hands

Sam flashed his most winning smile and held up another note.

_I died. Sithis stole my voice. Help?_

Falcar glared, but Sam could see he was intrigued.

"And if I refuse?"

Another perfectly sweet smile before shuffling through his notes.

_Did you know the fumes of the reanimation spell you use work their way through every fiber of your clothing?_

"And?" Falcar drawled, leaning against the door. "Are you about to make a _point?_"

Sam grinned.

_Do you realize how very flammable that makes you?_

Falcar watched with slowly dawning horror the flames dancing between the boy's outstretched fingers. Glaring at having been slightly out maneuvered, he iced Sam's entire hand.

"Honestly, I don't believe you could if you tried," he said with a perfect snarl of a smirk. "You don't exactly have the aptitude for such things, do you?"

_Hieronymus Lex is following me. Imagine what will happen when he realizes you're a necromancer._

"_That_ pitiful fool? He can't even catch a simple thief."

Sam glowered, stepping inside the room, and lit the Altmer on fire.

* * *

"Ah, Lucien. Wonderful timing," said the sandy-haired woman at the door. "Go feed the ogre."

"Nicolette—" he started between clenched teeth.

But his sister only frowned.

"Go feed the ogre. Take him the sheep on the end. She's been feeling poorly lately and Mother suspects she's about to die."

Lucien clenched his jaw just a little harder. He'd forgotten in the brilliance of his plan just how much his sisters rankled him.

"I didn't come to feed Mother's pets, I—"

"I don't care, Lucien. _Go feed the ogre_."

And then she shut the door in his face, returning to whatever conversation she'd just left.

Muttering to himself about the idiocy of his family, Lucien stormed off for the barn.

* * *

After a moments panic, Falcar put himself out. But only after his robes had burned through in more than one spot.

"You rotten son of a bitch," he growled, advancing. "I'll kill you and use your corpse to—" he stopped suddenly, finding his body no longer responding to his will. "What in the hell have you done?"

Sam smiled, and stealing over to the man's desk, scribbled down a note.

_Partial paralysis. Very useful. Allows you total control over your victim's movement._

Then, with a wicked grin, he marched Falcar over to sit on the bed.

_Now, I need help_, he wrote. _I've no doubt Hieronymus will capture me. And when he does, he'll return me to Ocato. And you'd better believe _he_ will send a squadron of battle mages knocking at your door. We could, however, simply avoid all this unpleasantness if you'd just agree to help me._

"Sithis stole your voice in death, you say? How is it you're alive now?"

_Very, very talented, me. I don't resurrect corpses. I resurrect men._

"I fail to see the distinction…" and then, suddenly, he did. Realizing just what sort of creature Sam was, he smiled. "And here I thought I'd killed the last one. Allow me to propose a trade."

* * *

Lucien dragged the sheep from its half dead slumber, carting it out to where the ogre sat, tethered to a rock by a length of steel chain.

Heaving the sheep up, he flung it into the air. A second later the ogre was on his feet, jumping to catch the startled animal before ripping off its head.

Lucien wrinkled his nose, unconsciously wiping his hands on his robe before making his way inside.

"Hello, Lucien," the widow Lachance looked up from her seat before the fire, two daughters at her either side. "Nice to see you still remember your family."

"Sabine said you were dead," announced the oldest sister— Veronique— who could, at fifty-four, pass for a younger version of her mother. Her hair was long and dark, as were her eyes, features elegantly shaped as though by the hands of an artist. Sabine looked much the same, though she at least had their father's nose. Nicolette was the only one with their father's hair.

"I was, actually," he said, sweeping off his cloak. "The Black Hand was driven to idiocy and marked me as a traitor."

"Were you?" his mother asked with the perfect arch of an elegant brow.

"No, it was that idiot Bellamont," he snapped, sitting down. "Changed my dead drops."

"Dead drops got your father killed, you know."

"I am not changing tradition, mother, simply because Father allowed one of his dead drops to fall into the wrong hands."

Nicolette frowned.

"So how is it you're alive then?"

Lucien smiled, easing slightly.

"My Silencer is extremely talented."

The thought of Sam was comforting. His smile widened just a little, feeling smug and rather warm.

"Oh, he has the gift, does he?" Nicolette laughed and leaned back. "That's odd."

A murmur of agreement from the other two women. Lucien frowned, looking between them.

"Gift?"

"Never mind, Lucien," his mother waved the question off with practiced ease. "What is it you want? You rarely come without some request."

He frowned at that, but didn't dispute it, knowing full well it was true.

"Where's Sabine? I'd hoped to speak to her as well."

"She's taken over the Skingrad sanctuary."

The frown deepened.

"She's been appointed?"

If Sam knew about his sisters than the entirety of his brilliant plan to get him back where he belonged had failed.

"No, she's not been appointed. She's taken it on herself to see the guild hall doesn't fall to ruin." Veronique glared. "The new Listener is apparently an idiot."

"He's my Silencer, actually," Lucien began just before his sisters burst out laughing.

"That certainly explains it," Nicolette managed. "Have you been keeping him too busy to do his duty to the guild? You know, Lucien, you really must learn to let the poor boy _sleep_."

"That's not the problem," he ground out. "I came to ask for your help."

There was a moment of silence in which the only sound was Nicolette's stifled giggling.

"You mean to tell me," Veronique asked, struggling to keep a straight face, "that you've finally found a Silencer you can't bed?"

"That's not it at all," he growled, glaring. "I've had him, he's simply—"

The window Lachance laughed for the first time that day.

"You're over forty now, Lucien. It's quite common, you know. Your father never had the problem, obviously, but—"

"Mother!"

And they all laughed to see Lucien flushed red to the tips of his ears.

There were certain disadvantages to being the youngest of the family. This happened to be one of them.


	38. Chapter Thirty Eight

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

* * *

"Do you speak at all?" Falcar asked, making his way through the room.

"As far as I can tell I only squeak," Sam replied, wondering if it were possible for certain people to hear him. "Unfortunately, I hear every word I say, so I couldn't tell you."

Falcar frowned. That was… odd, to say the least. He'd heard fragments of the sentence, Sam sounding like he was part of another world.

"I see. And Sithis did this?"

Sam nodded.

"You're _certain_?"

And then he glared, reaching over to scribble on the parchment next to him.

_I was dead, thanks very much. He put me back. So yes, I'm sure. _

"Did he simply neglect to return you in one piece?"

Sam reached for the paper again.

_My voice is still in the void. _

"And how exactly do you know this?"

_Sithis works in contradictions. _

Falcar laughed.

"Ah. So you're hearing voices and rather than blaming it on your own malfunction…" he trailed off, reading Sam's latest note.

_I know a fire that can't be put out. Would you care to test it? _

* * *

"That's absolutely ridiculous," Veronique said, first to speak after hearing his plan. "Even if it'd work, I refuse to participate in something so childish."

"Look. You barely have to do anything at all. Just—"

"No, Lucien. You're an idiot."

"Actually," Nicolette spoke up with a wicked smile, "I think I like this boy. It's about time you earned your rank rather than sleeping your way up."

"You'll do it?" he asked, purposely ignoring the jibe.

"Of course not," she laughed. "However I may find time to speak with the Listener of your undying infatuation."

Lucien stood.

"Don't you _dare_. I swear, Nic, if you so much as breath a word of this to him—"

"Sit down, Lucien," his mother snapped, patience lost.

"Actually, I'll just be on my way," he said, striding over to his cloak. "Goodbye, Mother."

And with that, stepped out into the lingering drizzle.

* * *

Sam left the Mages Guild hall, heading for the sanctuary. He had a list of names in his pocket he needed to deliver. He'd been considering instating Vicente as master of the hall on his way over, but had decided against it. As long as Arquen was in charge, he knew where she was and what she was doing. It was as soon as she left, that there'd be problems.

Friends close and enemies closer, after all.

Hoping she was out or sleeping, letter in his hand, Sam crept down into the sanctuary.

* * *

He should have known better. Should have known his sisters would refuse. They _lived_ to make his life hell. It stood to logic they'd do something like this. Lucien grit his teeth and ran his fingers through his hair.

He'd need a different plan then. Perhaps driving Sam slowly insane was not the best way to go about doing things. Because so far, ignoring the boy really wasn't doing anything but give him a constant stomachache and he was quickly getting fed up with the persistent, debilitating ache.

Lucien frowned, wondering what would happen if he were simply to follow the boy around. It'd make his life a hell of a lot easier, and for the first time he'd actually be looking for small inn rooms with only one bed.

A smile flickered at the corner of his lips. Sam had just been to Bravil. He'd be on his way to Cheydinhal now, if he wasn't there already. If Lucien could catch him, perhaps he could end all this madness.

Odd how after a day or two of pain, the crushing need to regain his position turned into aching desperation for a cuddle.

Muttering to himself about getting old and soft, Lucien spurred the horse on towards home. He was still smiling.

* * *

Sithis was, apparently, feeling guilty about having stolen his voice for Arquen was indeed sleeping when he arrive. Slipping the note under her hand, he crept back up the ladder, wondering where exactly he was supposed to go now.

He wanted more than anything to find Lucien. In all the time he'd known the man they'd never been apart this long. Which wouldn't have been a problem had their bond not been so fiercely protesting the distance between them. Sam sighed. Falcar wouldn't get anything done until at least tomorrow. And until then, he was going home.

* * *

May woke up, shivering, something heavy and cold sitting astride her stomach. Looking down, she realized that the blankets had wandered off and there was a pair of calipers sitting on her stomach.

Laughing, she reached down to it off, and found that it had been _stuck_ to her.

"Vicente!"

But there was no triumphant chuckle from anywhere in the near vicinity, and so she got up to find the sneaky bastard.

And stepped on a fork.

Cursing between giggles, she reached down to pick up the fork, cradling her injured foot.

There were forks _everywhere_. And they were all pointed at her. May fell back on the bed, laughing until her sides ached. She could just see Vicente with the blankets tied like a cape around his neck, placing every fork just so.

"God, I love you," she breathed at last, wiping away the tears her laugh had brought. "Quirky, beautiful man…"

* * *

Sam nearly doubled over upon entering his house, feeling absurdly close to tears.

It smelled like Lucien.

There was no way in hell that made sense at all, but it did. His house smelled like Lucien.

Barely remembering to lock the door behind him, Sam stumbled up the stairs. It wasn't much, really, just the faint scent of the cologne he sometimes wore, the dust and scent of poison that always clung to him. A beautiful, lingering scent.

Sam rubbed at his eyes. He wasn't crying. There was just something in the air.

One safely in the bedroom, he stripped down and slipped into bed. Here at least there was nothing to smell. Just the scent of soap and sheets— his own smell.

Lucien had never spent an hour in this bed, and for a moment he was almost grateful.

* * *

The church bells were chiming as Lucien crept through the gates, grinning like an idiot. Shadowmare had whinnied at him from the darkness of the stables and even had he failed to recognize her voice, there was no way he could have missed the glowing red eyes.

Sam was here. And as long as he was here, there was a possibility he could catch him. It was late though, or rather very early— three in the morning if the chapel bells were to be believed. And as Sam never slept in the sanctuary, it meant he had probably gone home.

Someone had opened his door. Sam lay in bed listening to the sounds below, half thinking he was dreaming, half wondering if he could light the man on fire without getting up.

_Thief or murderer?_ he wondered, listening.

A moment later he heard the lock click back into place.

_Murderer._ He was either coming to kill him or coming to bed and judging by the fact his stomach had blessedly stopped its pining in a sudden, startling jolt, Sam rather expected the latter.

Feeling absurdly grateful and offering up a quick prayer to Sithis, Sam curled against the wall and tried his best to look asleep.

* * *

Lucien draped his cloak over the back of a chair, having slipped off his boots at the door. A moment later, his shirt followed suit, this coming to rest on the seat of the chair itself before Lucien slipped into bed next to him. Sam smiled in his sleep and he almost laughed to see it, cradling the boy close as a tidal wave of fierce affection washed over him.

_Mine. Mine! This is perfect. Perfect. Even my bruise… _

It was still there, sitting where Sam's neck met shoulder, just beginning to turn an ugly shade of yellow.

Lucien smiled and pressed a kiss to the old bite, a soft apology.

"I love you," he whispered into the boy's hair, feeling overwhelmed. "Damned if I'll lose you."

Sam's eyes opened wide in the dark.

_I love you. _

Three words he'd never expected to hear from Lucien. He'd considered them impossibilities, too much to hope for under the best of circumstances. Strange how it terrified him to hear his own feelings parroted back.

_I love you. _

What if he was lying? What if he was _wrong?_

"Shh…" Lucien whispered, feeling him tense and mistaking it for nightmares. "Hush, Sam. I'm not about to let them have you."

With an effort, he forced himself to relax, let Lucien pull him closer until he was nestled in the crook of the man's neck, breathing in the smell of him and feeling at last like he'd finally come home.

Sam smiled. Hard to be frightened when the bond between them was purring with the shared contact, demanding all his willpower not to wriggle forward. He felt like he was falling apart at the seams, broken, complete, _perfect. _

Perfect…

Sam closed his eyes and slept.


	39. Chapter Thirty Nine

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: As more than one person has expressed confusion as to the code, I shall explain. There are the tenants, which everyone must follow, and there is the code, which is a set of rules and guildlines the hand follows. Because I refuse to belive that five killers with ultimate power and control _wouldn't_ distroy the guild.

* * *

There was a carrot hanging from the doorway. May stopped, trying to figure out the significance of the single, strung up carrot. It was possible it was about as significant as the hundred or so forks now sitting in a pile in the corner of the room.

Standing on tiptoe, she sniffed it. But it didn't smell unusual. Simply like any other carrot she'd ever eaten. Stepping to one side, she gave it a quick, furtive poke.

Nothing.

Vicente was trying to distract her from something, she realized and pulled the carrot down. But _what_? What was his big plan?

Grinning to herself, she took a healthy bite from the carrot and stepped outside the room, only to jump a foot in the air at the sudden scrape of metal on stone.

Panicked, she darted out further into the hall, only to realize the _forks_ were _following her_.

* * *

Vicente laughed as May scampered past, shooting him a scathing glare as behind her, one hundred fifteen forks rushed to keep up. He wondered how long it'd take her to realize they'd only stop when she did.

"You complete _ass_!" she called as she fled up the wall, dodging tapestries, stopping to see if the forks would follow.

They did not. With a sigh of relief, she hung there, making sure to keep glaring at her lover, even if he was laughing too hard to notice.

"Why calipers?" she asked, interrupting his mirth.

Vicente shrugged, passing a hand over his eyes.

"You hate calipers about as much as I loathe garlic. It seemed appropriate."

"And the forks?"

He smiled.

"Entirely an afterthought."

She frowned.

"How do I get the stupid thing off?" Whatever he'd used to stick the calipers on with was completely foreign to her and she did not relish trekking about in her underwear with only a borrowed pair of pants all day.

But Vicente only smiled.

"Where did you leave my things?"

May tried very hard to look innocent.

"You haven't found them?"

Standing, Vicente made his way over to the wall she was clinging to.

"Obviously not." A hand pressed to the wall on either side of her, he leaned close to whisper in her ear, "I could make it worth your while, however."

May giggled, feeling lightheaded at his proximity and her continued lack of blood.

"I won't tell you."

"Oh?" Vicente nipped lightly at her neck. "So certain?"

"Yes." May frowned, realizing that not only was the lightheaded feeling not going away, but suddenly the room had started spinning. "Vicente, I—"

It was a far as she got before she passed out, falling backwards into the man's arms.

* * *

Sam woke up only to find himself staring into a very deep pair of chocolate eyes.

"Good morning, Sam," Lucien was far too cheerful first thing in the morning. And dressed, he realized after a moment. And a cheerful, _dressed_ Lucien was never a good thing.

Rolling over, he groped in the bedside table for his quill and stack of paper.

_Did you tell Vicente he's in charge of the hall?_

Lucien laughed, rolling up and to his feet.

"You knew I wouldn't."

_Good. Changed my mind about that._

"Oh?" Lucien smirked, feeling suddenly very triumphant now that he was getting back his hall. "Your plan of action now?"

_Keeping Arquen in charge._

"_What?_" Any scrap of good humor he had fell away and he glared. "You're _what_?"

_Enemies closer than friends_, he scrawled. _Please don't shout. My head is throbbing._

"Poor baby," Lucien snarled, still glowering. "But understand when I say I will destroy the Black Hand before I serve my own murderer."

Sam sighed and thrust a note at him before turning away and burying his head under the pillow.

_I don't want you under Arquen. I want you under _me_. And you can take that however you like. I get my own Silencer, don't I? _One_ of my thumbs has a nail, after all._

The anger left him in a rush, leaving him feeling oddly watery— like a stone thrown into a pond. He'd been _promoted_.

He outranked Arquen.

"You have no idea at all what you're asking," Lucien murmured, sitting down at the edge of the bed and attempting to pry the pillow from Sam's death grip.

From under the pillow came a frustrated gesture accompanied by Sam's fragmented cursing.

"You'll have to come out of there if you wish to speak to me," he said, trying hard to keep the smile from his voice.

Sam glared and rose, just enough to scribble another note.

_You tire me out._

"I shall take that as a compliment." Lucien chuckled, leaning his back against the wall before pulling Sam into his lap. "You're not toying with me with this promotion are you?"

Wishing desperately that he'd just shut up, Sam curled into him, nose pressed into the crook of Lucien's neck.

"As a Mute, I would—"

He was cut off by a vague, confused hand gesture. Lucien smiled.

"The Listener's personal assassin is generally called a Mute. He outranks everyone but the Listener himself and functions outside both the tenants and the code."

"Oh gods," Sam muttered, letting his head fall back against Lucien's shoulder. "That's just what you need, isn't it? An excuse for your massive ego."

Lucien didn't catch most of that, _ego_ the only word that really came through. Listening to Lucien's chuckle rumble through him, Sam closed his eyes, content to let him talk to his heart's desire as long as he didn't move.

"I would still be bound to your command," Lucien murmured, stroking a hand through his hair. "A fact I'm not entirely happy with, but as long as I outrank that pig…"

He stopped, watching the note crawl up his leg.

_Do you still insist I remain your Silencer?_

Lucien stopped, realizing that this single question was probably the source of the boy's bitterness.

"No, Sam. I released you from that the night I claimed you as my lover."

_You'd give up your control over me then?_

Lucien laughed.

"You know better than to think I cannot manipulate you into my will. But in this matter, yes. I've long since freed you from my service."

Grinning, Sam pulled him into a sideways, rib-crushing hug, another note crawling up his leg.

_You're an idiot, Lucien._

But it was worth it to see the boy smiling again.

* * *

Vicente was glaring at her. She could tell this not because she was looking, or even facing the same direction as the man, but rather because she was intensely skilled in the sensing of vampiric glares.

She wasn't sure if he were awake or not, though, as Vicente had an odd habit of glaring in his sleep. But as she was currently pressed against his chest, her head resting in the crook of his neck, nose pressed to his collarbone, it wasn't like she could check without being found out.

And she was _starving_.

Which was probably why she'd passed out in the first place, blood loss and a few forgotten meals not exactly being on the best of terms.

Using all her willpower not to smile and give herself away, May snuggled a little closer into Vicente's shoulder. She was intensely pleased with the sheer level of careful concern tucked away in this quite lovely embrace she'd managed to commandeer with her passing out cold.

"I know you're awake, you beautiful idiot. Your breathing's changed."

May laughed, pulling him closer just as his arms curled around her shoulders.

"Did I not explain my conditions clearly enough, May?" his aggravation was rather plain. "You could do yourself serious injury being so careless."

She said nothing, only shut her eyes, smiling against his chest.

"Well," Vicente snapped, and she could hear the frightened anger in his voice. "Have you _nothing_ to say for yourself?"

May looked up, able to see a quarter of his frown and the underside of his chin.

"Does this mean I get breakfast in bed?"

Vicente tried hard to stay upset; he really did, but that threatening smile would not be denied.

"No. It simply means _I_ do not," he snapped, making a valiant attempt to stifle that bloody smile.

And May pulled away to look at him, a mischievous grin curling at her lips.

"I'll make you eat those words, Valtieri."


	40. Chapter Forty

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: The next chapter is Pheonicia's chapter... sort of.

* * *

"Here," Falcar said, handing Sam an oddly colored potion.

Lucien frowned.

"What is it?"

The Altmer glared. He didn't like the idea of an interloper to begin with, but Sam's watchdog hadn't moved more than a few feet from his side and it was beginning to irritate him.

"I find the noises my projects make tedious. Years ago, I created a potion to remedy that. Logically, taking the full opposite of each ingredient _should_ fix the problem."

"Sam—" Lucien turned to warn him against drinking it, to mention that in his twenty-some years of service to the Night Mother there was no way he could mistake the smell of death that hung here, but he was a little late. By the time he'd managed the boy's name, Sam was halfway through with the drought.

Finishing, Sam very carefully set the bottle on the table, watching everything whirl around him.

"As my projects are not exactly in the capacity to complain, I'm afraid I don't know the side effects," Falcar was saying cheerfully. "There's a great possibility it could kill you."

Vaguely, Sam was aware Lucien was shouting something, torn between ripping Falcar apart and making sure he was still breathing.

_"Oh, hell. This doesn't look good," _Eldamil muttered in his head. _"We leave for less than a day and look what you get yourself into." _

_"By the Nine, Sam!" _Martin now, beyond irritation. "_What did you drink?" _

_"I think he's stopped moving." _

_"You're not helping, you know. Sam! If you're still—" _

_"If he isn't, what good is shouting at him going to do?" _

_"I've spent my life _healing_ people, you fetcher. While you were sacking Kvatch, I was taking in the wounded. Let me do my job." _

_"There's no good to be had from it," Eldamil grumbled, cowed. _

Sam shook his head, trying to fight his way back to the surface.

"I'm fine." It was as much for the men watching him as it was for Lucien.

Slowly, he sat up from where he'd slumped against the headboard of Falcar's bed, piecing himself together again bit by bit. From what he could see, Falcar was staring down an enraged Lachance and completely unbothered by it.

"Oh, look. He's still twitching." Elegantly side stepping away from the assassin, Falcar turned to look at Sam. "Your voice has _changed_ at the very least. Though I'm afraid that's probably all the more we'll achieve."

"Sam?" Lucien strode to his side, biting down hard on his anger. "Functioning properly?"

"I… yes. I'm fine. I think," Sam answered, wondering if he could be heard.

Inside his head, Eldamil hissed something that sounded like _all your fault. _

_"I swear, if you weren't dead already," _Martin growled back. From the tone of it, he could see the man in his mind's eye, hands balled into fists at his side, shoulders squared.

Outside, in the world of the living, Lucien frowned. He'd just gotten used to Sam of the squeaking-hinges. And while Falcar hadn't managed to get his voice back, he had restored the volume to his voice, forming it into an unnerving, broken roar.

Sam looked at him, feeling entirely different. Where a moment before the room had been half cloaked in shadows, it was now saturated in light. He could see every nook and cranny without strain, as though the sun were sitting in the center of the room. Even Lucien had no shadows at all on his face…

And strangely, he found himself wondering what the man would _taste_ like in a totally non-sexual way.

Sam struggled to stay calm. It wasn't possible to distill porphyric hemophilia. Falcar had not just sent him headlong into vamprism. He was fine.

_Fine. _

"Sam?" There was concern in Lucien's eyes, warring with anger and a bitter, seething hate.

_Fucking necromancer. Tear him to shreds, sting him up from the Night Mother herself. Rip out—_

Sam waved him off and stood, making towards the paper.

_When does it wear off?_

Nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about.

"I'm not sure, actually. Anywhere from twelve hours to a day. You're unfortunately small. Possibly longer."

Lucien snapped at that, unsheathed his sword and lunged forward. But Falcar only darted aside, leaving a trail of green in his wake as a zombie lurched forward in his stead.

Sam was _exhausted. _He'd been resurrecting the dead, reigned to death, killed, resurrected, flying from one end of the country to another, arrested, freed. And so now, an odd half vampiric _thing_, wandering lost without a voice or hope of a future, torn between two extremes, Sam had been pushed _too far._

The zombie flew across the room, shattering into the wall and taking Falcar with it. It disappeared, its necromancer slumped unconscious against the wall.

_Give up everything for you. Friends. Family. What have I got now? _

Sam stormed out, shouldering through the panicked members of the Mages' Guild, flames licking around his arms, winding through his hair.

"Sam!" Lucien's voice sounded miles away.

_"Sam?"_ A mix of voices— hundreds, thousands. Sam shut his eyes, grit his teeth.

_Not enough! Not bloody well enough! My life for you! You think this is funny, you sick son of a bitch? YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY!? _

"Sam." Demanding. Closer. But Sam shrugged him off.

_Don't touch me. Don't touch me, or gods help me I will burn this city to the ground. _

He was heading for the stables, for Shadowmere, knowing full well Ocato was the only one capable of stopping him now.

Or Lucien…

_Not enough. Not enough. Not fucking enough! _

He'd almost made it to the gates when someone grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around.

Lucien. Only Lucien. But he was not fit for human contact at the moment. Lucien had never seen him like this. Never angry, never broken. Peeved, tired, yes. And in his foolishness he'd thought he'd seen the extent of it.

"Touch me again and I will rip you apart!" he could have been talking to Lucien, Eldamil, Martin, Sithis… Nothing made sense. He felt blind. Colors crept on the edges of his vision but no pictures took hold. Houses, barns, all the same. Everything was the same.

"For Sithis' sake, what's gotten into you?" Lucien's eyes flashed, angry, but he couldn't compare. The dam had broken, Sam's mind had gone. There was nothing left but a sea of red and black, meaningless colors.

Mythic Dawn. Dark Brotherhood.

Dawn's fire. Mourner's black.

Mourner's Dawn.

_Donottouchmedonottouchmedonottouchme _

Sam pulled away, escaped the gates this time before Lucien tore him back.

_Bad move. Bad moon. _

Spinning faster than the eye could follow, he tore Lucien's hand away and using brute strength and massive leverage, slammed him to the ground.

_Let's play a game… _

Shadowmere jumped the fence behind him, torn between two masters, watching Lucien as he stared up at Sam. Anyone else and they'd have been dead where they stood. But Sam… He'd never seen the boy like this before. There was something wild in his eyes, something utterly insane.

"Calm yourself, Samwane," he kept his voice low, a pleasing growl. "Easy. Just breathe."

Fear laced anger, spinning into each other until it was impossible to tear them apart.

_What color are my eyes? _

Sam only looked at Lucien, taking in the image of such a powerful man on his ass in the dust. He felt disjointed, shattered…

_Lucien is dead. Dead. Dead. _

No. He was here, staring at him.

_Losing my mind. _

Everything was spinning. He saw without seeing, everything around him a fragmented, broken blur.

_What are you? What am I? Ocato… _

Sam panicked. He wasn't himself. The fire that had so aided his escape flickered and snapped around him. He couldn't control it, but at least it didn't burn.

_Lost control. You've lost control. Everything broken. Everything lost. _

Sam swung himself up on Shadowmere's back and spurred her on. She leapt over Lucien's still and startled form, headed on the road for the Imperial City.

_Save me… _

* * *

Lucien picked himself up, brushing off dirt as he watched Sam fly off. He'd never seen him like this before. There'd been only one time in all of their history together in which Sam had been the first to attack and even that had been more playful than violent. To see Sam snap, raw power consuming him…

Jumping the fence, he strode for his horse. He was _not_ going to let Sam tear himself apart.

* * *

Hieronymus frowned and stopped, watching the black blur as it streaked down the hill. Sam looked different. Startlingly so. It was nothing he could put his finger on— no change in the slope of his shoulders or the color of his eyes. And yet it was like all the color had washed out of him. He looked distorted. Like something crucial had been torn away from him.

"Sam!" he called, spurring his horse towards him. "By the Nine, Sam, just let me do my job! Ocato will have my head—"

But Sam never slowed, never even glanced at him as he galloped past. Hieronymus' frown deepened. There was no doubt that horse was his, but Sam was riding without so much as a strap of leather. There was no way he could control her if she decided to go her own way. And knowing that horse, it was just a matter of time.

But it looked like he was returning to Ocato of his own volition. So Hieronymus turned and followed, flames lapping at his fingers, ready to force Sam's course if necessary.


	41. Chapter Forty One

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: This is all. Pheonicia's. fault. XD

* * *

May swore, trying hard to catch her breath while still glaring at Vicente. The man was completely unfazed, but smirking, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"I'm three hundred years old, May," he said, leaning over to steal a kiss. "Do you honestly think you can out stubborn me?"

"Yes," she snapped, stealing her kiss back. "I won't eat until you do."

Vicente grinned, leaning back.

"I can go _years_ without, May."

She smirked.

"Obviously."

Vicente cocked a brow.

"Oh?"

"Well, yes," May continued on with that clever little smirk. "I mean you're not exactly twenty anymore, are you? But don't worry, sweetheart. It's alright. I imagine even Lucien—"

"_Lucien?_ What does he have to do with anything?" Vicente asked, torn between hurt and amusement.

"Have you seen Sam lately? He seems so... unsatisfied."

May stifled the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. She could see the gears turning in his head, amusement gradually fading into disappointment.

"Do I not…?"

She smiled sweetly then, patting his arm.

"Well when you _feed_. That lightheaded feeling could make _anything_ brilliant. And you with all that fresh blood?" she sighed happily and fell back onto the bed.

Vicente watched her, feeling awkward, not sure if she was playing.

"May?"

She smiled up at him, curling under his arm, the hair falling away from her neck.

"It's alright, Vicente. I still love you. And it's a very simple fix you know."

This was probably the only woman in existence who could make him insanely happy, shatter his ego and still attempt to wheedle something out of him in the span of a few seconds.

"Glad you agree," he said with a mischievous smile. "Someone brought a box of Salmo's down this morning."

May frowned, playing innocent.

"I don't see how that's going to fix anything."

"Actually, my dear, it would," he said, hiding a grin in her hair. "I've told you I'll not take more until you've eaten and I stick to that. What little faith you have, expecting I'll break my word so easily."

May sighed, both intensely pleased and extremely annoyed.

"This is not a matter of honor, Vicente, it's—"

He swept down then, cutting her off with a soul-stealing kiss. When finally Vicente pulled back, May blinked at him before staggering out of bed.

"Right then," she mumbled, a few stray forks galloping after her. "Breakfast."

* * *

Lucien could see Sam as he crested the hill, miles below. He was riding to beat Dagon himself, a man on a white horse following as close behind as he could, fire licking at the tips of his fingers.

So this was Sam's white knight. _Hieronymus Lex._ A month ago that name was never far from Sam's lips. Always on about stories of drunken nights spent laughing and singing in taverns Lucien knew he'd never be caught dead in. The moment he'd almost convinced Lex to dance on the tabletops. The night they'd fought Dagon. The night Ocato'd had to be called down to drag his sorry hide from the Tiber Septim Hotel and Lex had blushed such a violent shade of red…

He shook his head and urged the horse on, losing sight of Sam as he delved back between the trees.

_Do you remember the night you turned my ears purple? I've never seen Hieronymus laugh that hard before. He just about cried when he saw me. It was perfect._

There was nothing he could do. Not at the moment. Just had to keep up. That was all he really had left at this point.

_You've never seen an Altmer drunk, have you? Sithis, Ocato is hilarious drunk. He gets… smarmier, I don't know. You'd like each other, I think, if _you_'d stop looking so death and doom all the time._

He had to catch Sam. Had to know what was wrong with him, to set it right again. Something had broken when Falcar summoned that zombie.

Lucien's fingers itched. He'd wanted so badly to kill him. Would have, but when Sam stormed out, he'd had to adjust his priorities just a little. Chasing Sam was far more important than killing a snot of a high elf.

_I miss Martin. For a priest, he had a wicked sense of humor. It's a pity he's dead. He'd have made a wonderful emperor. _

There wasn't a doubt in his mind he loved the kid. He wasn't about to lose him again to some minor indecision, or prideful inability to admit when he'd finally met his match… his lover. Lucien smiled at the memory of last night.

_I could have been empress, you know. What? Oh, I suppose it _is_ a bit of an inside joke._

But the smile died within seconds and he spurred the poor horse on that much faster. He _had_ to catch up.

_You know, I don't ever think I managed to get Martin drunk. Mores the pity. _

He hated it. Hated it that there was so much to Sam's life that he could never be a part of. The boy was made of light and mischief, always laughing, always darting about searching for something to get into.

_Baurus, on the other hand. I got him to dance on the table. Jauffre couldn't look at him with a straight face for a month after that. Of course the dress didn't help matters._

Lucien saw the bandit before she saw him. Unsheathing his sword as he renewed his silence spell, he leaned forward, waiting until he got close enough. But by the time he'd gotten to her, she'd run off, her odd hodgepodge of armor nearly blinding in the sun.

_Well, he was drunk, you see. You can convince a drunk Blade into anything. I simply explained to him the necessity of proper costume whilst performing the Lonely Farmer's Daughter and Her Magic Carrot._

Setting his jaw, Lucien slipped his sword back into its sheath. He was not about to lose Sam. Not again. Not after last night— feeling the boy curled so close into him, all heat and smooth flesh.

_Why are you looking at me like that?_

Lucien closed his eyes for a moment, pressing the memories away. Sam was his. Ocato may hold sway over him now, but not for very much longer. After all, Sam had taken well to waking up next to him, even if he had worked himself into a mood and run off for Ocato.

No matter. There wasn't a Lachance in existence that couldn't get what he wanted.

* * *

Vicente dashed off as soon as they had finished, pausing only long enough to grab a pair of pants from the floor. Disappointed she hadn't warranted a cuddle, May turned and curled into the blankets Vicente had, thankfully, left behind.

She was already drifting off a moment later when he returned with the commandeered Salmo's box and a wicked grin.

"Ours is a more desperate cause, I think," he said, kicking the door shut behind him before padding with bare feet to the bed. "Hungry?"

May peered from her pile of blankets, two gleaming eyes the only thing visible.

"That depends. Are _you_?"

* * *

Ocato hadn't expected Hieronymus to reign in the boy for another week yet. He certainly hadn't expected to see them both barreling inside an hour before noon, Sam bellowing something lost between worlds with that shattered look in his eyes he'd gotten when he realized Martin was dead and he couldn't save him.

"Sam!" he called, striding over. But there was power rippling over his arms, through his eyes, wild and untamable. It wasn't the first time.

Sam spun towards him, magic spitting off like lost rain, tear tracks streaked down his face.

"Evangeline!" Ocato called then, not sure if he could handle this himself. "A moment?"

Sam was shaking badly now, scorching the walls and the floor. Crouching down, Hieronymus had pulled up a shield of energy, trying hard to keep himself from getting burned. But there was really no way to contain it.

Ocato tried, pulling a shield around Sam, watching in horror as the flames consumed it a second later in an explosion of color.

And Sam was railing then, screaming obscenities no one could hear. They were going to have to knock him out. Problem being, there was no way to get at him. He caught every spell thrown his way, sending it careening off into the walls. The palace guards couldn't so much as get close to him. He'd catapult them off, sending them shattering into walls and the heavy oak doors.

He would listen to no reason. Not that it could be heard over the droning scream of magic, Sam's bellowing, Hieronymus' threats, Ocato's cajoling…

It felt like hours before the door swung open.

* * *

Lucien ducked, rolling under the dangerous tendrils of magical flame. He could see tremors in Sam's shoulders, the broken emotion in the remnants of his voice. But there was no way to get to him. That blinding flame surrounded him on all sides.

Determination swallowed fear in that instant and he lunged forward, passing through the flame to wrench Sam towards him, into a backwards embrace. And in the split second shock destroyed his flames Ocato recognized his opening.

Lucien caught the Bosmer as he collapsed, sweeping him up and into his arms.

And finally, at long last, Sam was still.

* * *

In the silence that followed, men rose from their positions along the wall. Hieronymus dropped his shield and stood, attempting to heal the bad burn sprawling over his right arm.

"Is he alright?" Ocato asked, coming forward. He hadn't exactly been in the right mind at the time to control the force he'd put into the blow.

"He's alive," Lucien growled, pulling away as he looked down at the poor boy in his arms.

There were dark streaks under his eyes, a bruise high on his left cheek, lip split and bleeding in a slow trickle down his chin, melding with lingering tears. But he was breathing still. That was the important thing.

"Give him to me." Ocato reached forward, meaning to take Sam from him.

But when Lucien jerked away, letting loose a blast of his own magic, Ocato sighed.

"The hard way then. A pity. I was prepared to be lenient, you know. No matter."

And suddenly Sam was wrenched from his arms, cradled and held aloft by a focused bolt of telekinesis.

"Arrest him," Ocato ordered, carefully lowering Sam into his arms before turning away from the blood bath soon to ensue.


	42. Chapter Forty Two

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

* * *

Lucien realized the fight was pointless. Even with a chameleon spell draped over him, fighting for all he was worth, he'd never last against seven highly trained guards and their captain.

A man who could, apparently, see him through his spell.

He couldn't fight. Couldn't run either. They'd blocked the door. Not only would he have to kill them, but to unbar it and get out in time to avoid a knife through the ribs? He realized, for the second time in his life, he was about to die.

Unless…

Letting loose his whirlwind, he knocked out the bookend guards guarding the Elder Council doors and darted inside, vaulting over the table and through a window. Fragments of color cascaded down around him as he rolled to his feet and ran like hell.

Behind him, Lex was spitting curses, a few of which Lucien knew he'd learned from Sam.

Something wet tracked down his face and he jerked a torn and charred sleeve to wipe it away.

Blood. Only blood.

_Soaked to the core._

* * *

Sam woke up slowly, feeling all too acutely the ache in every single muscle of his body. There was a sheet of paper lying close by, tickling at the very tips of his fingers.

_**I've warned you time and time again to sever your ties with this cult of yours, Sam. I cannot be seen to show leniency for the thieves and murders you befriend. That man of yours, Lachance I believe his name is, has been arrested. Had he the common sense enough to stay away, I would not have pressed the issue. As it is, you were warned. **_

_**You're the Champion of Cyrodill now. These things take precedence. Understand that you are my responsibility. Just at the moment, your every choice reflects on the whole of Cyrodill itself. I'm sorry to inform you, but you gave up the great majority of your freedom the moment you threw your lot in with Martin. **_

_**By the way, Evangeline has devised a rather brilliant way of keeping you within arm's reach and while I'm not about to tell you the secret, know simply that you cannot leave the Imperial Palace. **_

_**Ocato** _

Rage flared, fueling him. Sam picked up the first vase he could find and pitched it at the window.

It bounced off and shattered to the floor.

Lucien was in prison. Ocato had him held captive. The Dark Brotherhood was falling apart at the seams. He'd lost his friends, his family. Hell, he'd even lost his voice at the whim of a mad god and been turned into a half vampire with a crushing need to feed. He had nothing.

_Nothing_.

The rage left him in a rush, replaced by an assassin's cool genius. He'd have to kill Evangeline. Likely, her death was the only thing to set him free. Problem being, Ocato would have her well guarded. Or at the very least, at his side at all times. Her death would be a very tricky thing.

But then, that also depended on if he could touch her at all. It was possible she were playing anchor to this wretched spell and that there was no way he could _reach_ her without an extremely powerful, violent spell.

That was not the problem. Alerting Ocato was.

_"You could poison her." _This voice was new, feminine and oddly familiar.

"Antoinetta?"

_"Eldamil said you wouldn't remember me. You know it's odd that you know him, actually." _

"Why's that?" he frowned, leaning back on the bed, content to listen.

"_We've slept together. When he was alive, of course. I poisoned my aunt because she'd threatened to turn him in." _

"What'd you use?" he asked, _knowing_ he could poison the hateful bitch.

"_Corpus drippings and poison mushrooms. My aunt _loved_ mushrooms and there was an alchemist nearby that stocked dangerous things he'd found in Morrowind. I picked a basket full of bad mushrooms, died them the proper colors and fried everything with a bit of corpus." _Antoinetta laughed. "_She thought I was apologizing." _

Sam mused this for a while.

"I can't feed her. She'd suspect."

"_You could use Lucien's apples." _

"Ocato would recognize it. I've showed him one before."

"_That was stupid." _

Sam shrugged, feeling strangely calm now.

"We were friends."

_"I watched Lucien make his apples before. He's very fast, isn't he? I'm glad you slept with him." _

Sam laughed. Death hadn't changed her a bit.

"I rather enjoyed it."

_"That's good. Lucien needs you." _

"I know," Sam muttered darkly. "He's in prison."

"_No he's not. He's very clever." _

He perked up then, grinning at the ceiling.

"He's not?"

"_He jumped through a window in that room with the huge table. Cut himself up, and you burned his arms something horrible, but he'll be alright. He's very clever."_

"Ocato said he'd been arrested."

_"Ocato doesn't know yet. He's very pretty though, isn't he? Not quite up to Lucien's standards, but pretty." _

Sam laughed.

"And I imagine you know this simply because you lurk in his bedroom."

She giggled.

_"One of the perks of being dead. I rather enjoy it actually. Sithis lets me wander where I please. He likes to hear what's going on." _

"Where is Lucien now?"

_"Licking his wounds in an inn outside the Imperial City."_ And then she laughed. _"Only not literally. I don't think I've ever seen Lucien _lick_ anything." _

Sam blushed. He had.

"Can you talk to him?"

_"I would _love_ to. I miss him, you know, but I thought you'd be upset with me." _

"Why would I be upset?"

_"You're sleeping with him. He's yours." _

Sam smiled at that.

"You're welcome to talk to him any time you like. But could you tell him Evangeline's got me trapped here?"

_"Sam,"_ she said, suddenly very serious. _"You're Listener. _Order_ me." _

And then she was gone.

* * *

Lucien forced all thoughts but those pertaining to the task at hand from his mind. His arms had been badly burnt and he needed his entire attention to keep them from scarring. An hour passed before he finished, staggering off to bed lightheaded and weak from the drain on his magicka. He was healed at least. It would have been horrible other…

Antoinetta Marie was sitting on his bed. And she was _dead_.

"_Hello, Lucien." _

"I'm going mad," he muttered to himself, turning away for the bottle of wine.

_"Oh no. Not yet. Sam sent me." _

That caught his attention.

"Sam?" he asked, turning.

The spirit or hallucination of the mad woman nodded cheerfully.

_"Ocato asked Evangeline to make something to keep him inside the Imperial Palace. I almost wish I would have watched now. But when they talked about it, it was like they were speaking a different language. You know how mages are. Anyhow, whatever it is, it worked." _

"Is he alright?" Lucien demanded, striding close, remembering the too dark eyes and shallow breathing.

"_He misses you." _

That stopped him in his tracks, a painful swell of longing lodging itself beneath his breastbone.

"But he's alright? That fool Ocato hasn't damaged him?"

_"They never slept together, you know," _Antoinetta chirped. "_Sam really loves you. Why do you think he brought you back?" _

Lucien shrugged it off, uncorking the bottle with his teeth.

"He doesn't love me. He finds me useful and convenient. If anything, it's my power that attracts him in a purely poli—"

"_He _loves_ you,"_ she growled, glaring. "_He wouldn't have slept with you otherwise." _

Lucien snorted.

"I've slept with scores of people I can't stand."

But the ghost only shook her head, aggravated.

_"Not Sam. You should bring him flowers and apologize." _

_"_Apologize?" Lucien frowned, turning. "For _what?"_

But she'd already gone off again.


	43. Chapter Forty Three

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Very dark, this. Things are beginning to come full circle.

* * *

"Has he woken?" Ocato asked, seeing the look on the guard's face. "What's he done?"

"Nothing, sir," he said, trying hard to forget he was reporting failure to the most powerful mage in Cyrodill. "It's the man in black we've a problem with."

Ocato sighed and sat down at his desk.

"He's gotten loose, has he?"

"Actually, sir, we never quite managed to catch him."

"There were _eight _of you," Ocato snapped, looking up.

"He jumped through a window." And then as an afterthought, "Sir."

"Not one of the Elder Council's, I hope." This with a glare that could turn a man to ice.

The guard swallowed hard, and with a great heave of confidence, answered in the affirmative.

* * *

Sam stared at the window.

_Trapped._

And stared at the window…

_Like Jagar Tharn in reverse. Worse. Because Ocato will let me out when he needs me. On a leash. Inside an impossibly tall fence._

And stared at the window…

_This is my reward for serving the empire?_

And raged at the window.

_My memories taken, beaten out of me. I could have a lover out there. Friends. Family._

Beating his fists against glass that felt like lead.

_Forced to play servant boy for the emperor's bastard son._

Picking up a table when that failed to get him anywhere.

_A son he didn't have the balls to admit to until it was convenient._

Shattering it again and again into the window.

_Risked my life and for what?_

Watching as it crumbled in his hands.

_To have my lover taken from me._

Ripping apart the bed then to get at the headboard.

_My voice._

Setting the wreckage of the table on fire with an awkward thought.

_My life._

Throwing the entire smoking mass into the window.

_Trapped. Like the dog in Bellamont's cellar. Left to go mad._

Leaving it to burn when it failed to help.

_Until needed._

Ripping off the mattress then to shove against the door.

_Until convenient._

Dragging the carcass of the bed behind it to form a sort of fortified ramp.

_Just needed to smile and look pretty for the people._

Launching lightning into the glass.

_To agree with Ocato…_

Listening to the shouting outside his room.

_To assure everyone everything is alright._

Falling back as his door rattled on its hinges.

_Expected to choose imprisonment over the life I've built, such as it is._

Shouting curses he knew they couldn't hear.

_Expected to be perfect. Alone. Sane. Godlike._

Sinking against the far wall as it all left him in a rush.

_Alone…_

Watching as Ocato blew the door away.

_Expected not to care that my lover has fifteen good years left at most._

Ignoring him as he raged.

_A blink of the eye for an elf. Even a Bosmer._

Unresisting as Ocato wrenched him to his feet, still shouting, red in the face.

_Expected to watch, impassive as everything slips off into change._

Letting himself be dragged down the hallway.

_Expected to let Lucien __**die**_

Feeling distantly triumphant at the sight of Evangeline passed out cold.

_Expected to save your lover when I cannot hold my own._

Sinking to the floor in uncontrollable laughter, realizing Ocato was close to tears.

_No._

Barely feeling the blow that knocked his breath away, still laughing, now in half coughing jags.

_I may be your prisoner, but damned before I'll be your slave._

* * *

"If you've killed her Sam," Ocato growled, voice dangerous low, heavy with emotion. "If she dies, know that I will make your every waking moment _hell_."

_Can you blame me for trying to break free?_

Slowly, Sam staggered up, pulling a scrap of paper from the drawer before searching for a quill. All the while he could feel Ocato's glare hot on his back and found for once, he couldn't care less.

_Give me my lover, _he wrote, _and I'll give you yours._

The color drained from Ocato's face and Sam could see the muscles of his shoulders drawing taunt.

"I don't think you understand."

And suddenly Sam was slammed against the wall, Ocato's telekinesis a crushing weight on his chest.

"This is _not_ a negotiable situation."

Sam would have laughed, had he the energy or the breath. It was insane, this. Ocato was the one to trap him, to lock him up and demand he play the pretty champion. Evangeline was the idiot to bind herself to the spell that trapped him. Had they honestly expected he would take well to captivity?

Did they think him _mad_?

_Maybe I am… Everything's falling apart… Lucien…_

Ocato let him down then, watching impassively as he gasped for breath.

"You _will_ fix this," he growled, arms crossed.

But Sam only groped for the paper.

_Man walks into an ogre's cave, gets his head crushed. Everyone agrees it was his own damn fault. Woman imprisons an assassin, gets herself killed. By that logic, it is her own damn fault._

Ocato grit his teeth and sent him ricocheting around the room, finally slamming him hard into the opposite wall and watching as he slumped, trying just to breathe.

"My guards have him, you know," Ocato growled, eyes dark. "That godforsaken lover of yours is rotting in prison. So far the guards have been… gentle. It'll only take a word to change that."

Sam laughed, a low broken chuckle, pulling his knees up to his chest. Ocato was a fool. A lying, incompetent fool without even the skill to pull his ladylove from what was obviously a simple coma. Lucien was free. He would always _be_ free. And even if he hadn't believed that with every fiber of his body, he was beginning to see the benefit in Sithis' little gift.

Because Antoinetta Marie was whispering in his head, safely in the void but frightened.

_"Are you alright? Lucien's fine. There's a secret room in his inn. The owner's one of us, you know. He's grown to accommodate such emergencies. Even keeps Lucien's favorite wine. The guards don't suspect."_

"Every day she suffers, Sam, I will personally see that your lover repays it in full."

_"Oh, stupid fat Ocato. There's nothing_ wrong _with Lucien! Don't worry. He'll fix this. He's very clever."_

Paper crawled across the floor towards him, followed by ink and quill.

_You lie_, Sam wrote, too tired to mince words. _I've got half a head in the void. Do you think the dead are blind?_

Ocato didn't even blink, gave no sign to indicate he was casting, even when Sam doubled over at the pain blazing through his stomach.

"So sure of that are you?" Ocato's voice, immensely smug, filtered through his haze of pain.

But it was too convenient, this searing pain, and it wasn't accompanied by the memory of Lucien's smell, or the feel of hands ghosting over skin, or that little smirk Lucien had when they made love, as if vaguely surprised by the whole thing.

_"We're coming, Sam. Just hold on!" _Antoinetta seemed to shout.

And then everything faded. He felt empty, alone, his world narrowing to the blinding pain in his stomach, too concerned with that to bother with Antoinette's use of a plural pronoun. Through the blur around him he heard Ocato shout and suddenly it was gone, startled off.

Weak and hazy, Sam opened his eyes to see Eldamil land a shattering punch into the mer's face, Antoinetta looking grim with her fingers in Ocato's stomach.

Eldamil was pulling him to his feet then, brushing him off before propelling him out the door. Back inside, Ocato gave a pained sob, lashing out at a woman he couldn't touch.

"Where are we going?" Sam whispered, voice sounding charred at the edges.

"_When we planned the emperor's death, we weren't sure where he'd be. We had half a dozen plans in motion that day. We were almost positive he would have used the tunnel system in the Imperial Palace to escape. _

"_But seeing as how they marched him through hostile territory to get out, it's likely the passage has been forgotten. Which means that bitch won't have trapped it and _you_ might be able to get out." _

"The windows are sealed," Sam croaked. "The grates will be too."

But Eldamil only grinned that wicked smile that meant he had a very, _very_ good plan.

_"Actually, I doubt that. You can't fence in what you can't see. But then, she might have simply draped a spell over this godforsaken place, which means that no more than the first few levels are open. But that'll be enough. We just need to hide you out of sight until we can sort things out. Or at least until Lucien gets here."_

Sam said nothing, concentrating just on reviving the muscles of his throat.

_"You know, it's funny," _Eldamil said, skirting him past a guard as he ran up to aid Ocato. "_I despised Lucien in life."_

"You knew him?"

Eldamil laughed.

_"I knew him. Though at the time, he was a sandy sort of blond."_

And then, without warning, he pushed him through a grate.


	44. Chapter Forty Four

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Happy birthday, Pheonicia!

* * *

Ocato wiped the blood away from his mouth, spinning to glare at the guard.

"Find the Champion of Cyrodill _now_. Bring him to me. Take as many men as you need."

"Yes, sir!" he barked, wondering why he'd need men, but knowing better than to pose the question.

* * *

Sam realized he was falling after a few seconds had passed. Also realized that Eldamil had him in an oddly comfortable death grip and was slowing their decent.

"Where does this lead?" he asked, feeling like his throat had died.

"_Out,"_ Eldamil said simply. "

* * *

It was hell waiting until nightfall to act. Lucien paced the tiny room. One end to the other and back again, running hands though the tattered remains of his hair, _knowing_ Sam was in pain and unable to act.

_"Stop that!" _snapped a vaguely familiar voice behind him. "_You're making me dizzy."_

Lucien spun, knowing from the misty timbre the speaker was dead. He frowned at the sight of the mer, recognizing him but unable to place a name.

_"Eldamil," _he supplied, jumping from his seat on the chest of drawers. _"My hair was black when you met me. And I believe my name was Norstrel or something like that."_

"Did Sam send you?" he asked instead. Whoever the mer had been meant nothing now.

Eldamil shrugged.

"_In a matter of speaking, yes. He's hiding at the moment. I'll have to show you where. And we are going to have a hell of a time of it. The guards are **swarming**."_

"What's happened? Is Sam—"

_"Intact. He's intact. He tried to get loose and somehow injured Ocato's lady. Obviously, he wasn't very pleased."_

Lucien glared.

"I'll kill him," he hissed, spinning around to pace the room again, already planning his attack.

_"I wouldn't recommend it, honestly. Who's going to run the empire? You?"_

"But, Sam—"

Eldamil waltzed in front of him, dancing with an imaginary partner, mocking his pacing.

_"Lets play a game,"_ he whispered and Lucien shivered, feeling breath that was both real and unreal. _"What color are my eyes?"_

* * *

Sam sat in darkness at the bottom of that long drop, listening to the voices that trickled down from above. There were two different conversations going on from the floors above him. As far as he could tell, one was in the guards' quarters and one was coming from Ocato's room.

"I'm not sure what's going on at all," one guard said, springs squeaking as he sat down on the edge of his bed in full armor. "Some are saying the Champion attacked Ocato. Some are saying Ocato's had him trapped in the palace and he escaped. I even heard, and here's the real kicker, that he was a member of the Thieves' Guild."

Someone laughed.

"What? And him friends with Lex? I doubt it."

"You gotta admit, it'd be a good cover," a new voice said, this one rather distant.

"Good cover, maybe, but you know Lex. He can spot a thief a mile off," the second said, accompanied by the sound of metal boots thudding to the floor.

"Would he suspect the Champion of Cyrodill, though, that's the question," this from the first.

* * *

"You're awake," Ocato's voice, choked with surprise and concern. "I thought he'd killed you."

"No, no. I'm fine. Or rather, I will be. You didn't tell me this boy of yours was violent."

"He wasn't supposed to be."

"Champion of Cyrodill forced to stay where he doesn't want to? I wish you would have _warned_ me, Ocato."

"I'm sorry. I thought he'd come throw carrots at my head, not... _this._"

There was a pause in which Ocato repeated his apology. Evangeline was probably glaring.

"He comes into the Imperial Palace with his mind _gone_ and you expect him to be docile?"

"These moods don't usually last very long."

* * *

"He was friends with Lex before the Oblivion crisis, though." The forth, a woman. "Remember the mess with that bust? Samwane was the one that caught the thief trying to frame his informant."

"I'd forgotten about that, actually." Laughter then. "You remember the time his ears turned purple? I've never seen Lex laugh that hard before."

"He's capable of it?" The first voice, slightly bitter.

"He's a good man," the woman snapped. "Better than some I could mention."

"Oh, you're not still sore about that—"

"_Yes._"

"I've apologized a thousand times, Gywne. But if it would make you feel better, I could make it up to you. I know this nice little—"

"Now would be a good time to shut up."

"Yes, ma'am."

Stifled laughter then silence marred only by the sounds of men marching from their quarters.

* * *

"So you knew? You _expected_ it?"

"I didn't expect it, Eve. Now lay back before you hurt—"

"I've taken worse blows than this, you old fool. It would have been nice to know I was putting myself in danger though. I could have, I don't know, _made a shield?"_

"I didn't think—"

"And you couldn't have warned me at all, even if you didn't think he'd do it? A 'Hello, Eve. By the way, that one might kick a bit,' would have been _lovely_."

"I'm sorry. There's not much else I can tell you at this point. You know I wouldn't deliberately put you in danger."

Silence.

"Evangeline, I love you."

* * *

"You know, I don't believe any of it," the first said at last. "I don't think anyone knows what the hell's going on."

"That's probably the smartest thing I've heard all day."

"I'm serious."

"So am I. Everyone's flying about making assumptions. Hell, I even heard someone say he was a Mythic Dawn agent. This is getting out of hand."

"Everything would be so much easier if Ocato would just _tell_ us why we're chasing down the Champion. Is _he_ in danger, or _is_ he the danger?"

"I'm so confused!" A heavy weight, likely a man in full armor, falling back onto the bed. "And by the way, has anyone seen Evangeline?"

"I did. She looked… ill."

"What'd she say?"

"She didn't _say_ anything, actually. She was sleeping. But she looked rather pale."

* * *

"I wish you'd say something."

"Bugger off."

"Well, I _could_, but I honestly don't think it appropriate given the circumstances," this said with a smirk he didn't have to see.

Evangeline laughed. Only a small chuckle, but a victory none the less.

"You're a complete ass, you know that?"

"I've been called worse."

"A scatter-brained idiot fetcher who fancies the pants off of baby Bosmers—"

"Evangeline, the man that told you that is insane. And Sam's lover. I have no idea why in the hell he would bother to make up such a ridiculous, idiotic—"

"I was _joking_."

"Oh… alright then. Could I have a cuddle?"

* * *

"Maybe Samwane poisoned her."

Someone laughed.

"He couldn't have. He's rubbish at making potions. I tried to teach him once, he set the entire table on fire."

Laughter again as down below, Sam blushed.

"I suppose it wasn't him then. Unless she looked slightly charred to you."

"Were her eyebrows still there? He took off one of mine with the explosion."

And everyone laughed.

Sam curled up into the corner, feeling cold and lost and barely sane. He wanted Lucien. He wanted to be free. More than anything he wanted his _voice_.

Though he couldn't help but wonder what a voice without an owner _looked_ like.

_Concentrate on the matter at hand._

Amazing. A voice in his head and it was actually his own. An honest to gods _thought._

"Brilliant," he muttered to himself, slowing picking his way from the ground. He knew he shouldn't explore too far. He had to be here to meet Lucien. But there was no harm in seeing if he could get out.

Even if all he wanted was to _sleep_.


	45. Chapter Forty Five

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: I'm almost done with this beast! One more chapter to write. ONE MORE. XD Muahahaha. (Which means this will be 50 chapters long. So don't panic yet.)

* * *

It was hell waiting until nightfall to be led through the streets by a ghost intent on walking _through_ people. Which didn't make following him the easiest of endeavors. Still, he couldn't concentrate on it overmuch. He had to find Sam. He was nervous to the point of making himself sick. Or maybe it was their bond.

Either way…

Lucien grit his teeth, and shoved a Nord out of his way, frustrations reaching a breaking point. But then the White-Gold tower was looming above him and he felt strangely confident.

* * *

_"Sam?"_ _he'd just managed to catch the boy before he hit the ground. When the boy didn't respond, without so much as a flicker of an eye, Lucien frowned and laid him down on the bed._

_He was breathing, heart beating, he'd only managed to work himself into exhaustion._

_Lucien laughed, relieved._

_"You idiot," he muttered, stripping the boy of his outer layers. "Why do you do this to yourself?"_

_He was spattered with blood. There was even a hand print on the seat of his pants._

_Antoinetta. He'd bet money on it._

_"Lucien?"_

* * *

Lachance shook off the memory and turned to look at the ghost, his shadows still firmly in place.

_"You'll need to follow me very close. We've got to weasel our way into the guard quarters to get to Sam."_

"You left him with the guards?" he hissed, glaring.

But Eldamil only smiled.

"Under then, actually."

* * *

Sam closed his eyes, leaning hard against the wall, looking around at the wreckage of a once great civilization. He could _see_ the memories here— the ghosts of ghosts, shadows of builders and the people who had lived here, impressions of people when they'd been happiest.

_Hello… look at all of you. You look so cheerful. Stuck here for all eternity and you couldn't be happier._

He felt desperately close to breaking. Nothing was going right. He'd never asked to be the champion. He'd only wanted to help, and look where it got him.

_I wish… I wish I was happy._

Nothing he could do for that. They'd always recognize him. Champion of Cyrodill, there'd be no getting away from it. There was no way to shed this skin he'd been shoved into, no way to change his shape.

_Lets play a game…_

Sam startled up then, a flicker of hope bursting into life.

_Lucien._

* * *

Sneaking past the guards was not the easiest thing he'd ever done by far. It didn't help that Eldamil walked through the guards and far ahead of him, leaving him to dodge between them, trying very hard to keep so much as the air of his passing from being noticed.

When they finally made it into the guard quarters, Eldamil swore.

"_Too many guards. I thought they'd be gone by now. We'll have to do it the hard way."_

Lucien glared, attempting to mime the question as to what exactly constituted the hard way, when Eldamil began tossing everything he could get his hands on in all directions. And damn was he _fast_.

Crouching very low and as close to the wall as he could manage, Lucien attempted to avoid both the flying projectiles and manic guards. They tried to stay and fight but Eldamil was doing something to their detect life spells and so they fumbled around like teenagers in their first fight. The mer, on the other hand, was having a ball of it, appearing in opposite sides of the room, tossing up mattresses and bits of crockery.

When finally the last guard left the room, he swept Lucien up into an awkward stranglehold of a hug and plunged through the grate in the fireplace.

* * *

Eldamil swore once they'd reached the bottom, a mass of tangled limbs. It was very obvious Sam wasn't there.

"Where in the hell have you taken me, you lying son of a bitch?" Lucien growled, turning on him. "What have you done with Sam?"

A moment later and he'd been tackled to the ground from behind, a furious writhing mass swinging itself around to better lodge under his chin.

Laughing as his instinct to kill suddenly evaporated, Lucien pulled the bundle closer.

"I swear, Samwane. I leave you for a day and this is the trouble you get into?"

They sat there together for a long moment, coiled together like two halves to something broken before Sam stood and pulled Lucien up after him, twining their fingers so as not to lose contact entirely.

"I've found the way out," he said, and Lucien balked to hear it.

It wasn't his voice. For that matter, it wasn't any one voice at all. It was tens, hundreds of voices, deeper than the furthest abyss, higher than the highest of the Jerall Mountains. And somehow, Lucien realized that the voice he heard, belonged to Sithis.

Perfect chaos in a lithe little elf.

"Do me a favor, Samwane," he ground out, using a great deal of willpower to keep his teeth from chattering. "_Be silent_."

* * *

The minute Sam hit the open air again, he was off and dancing, swinging around in wide circles with his arms held straight out. Lucien couldn't help but laugh.

"With all due respect, Listener, that's hardly befitting a man of your station."

Sam spun, still laughing and flashed a rather rude gesture that would certainly have been aided by a pair of calipers and a carrot or two, before zipping up into a tree.

_"Where are you going?"_ Eldamil asked, looking rather hazy in the moonlight.

"Back to Farrugut," Lucien answered. "It's well defended, secluded and hopefully I can find a cloaking spell fast enough to work on squirming Bosmers."

Sam laughed, leaping from one tree to the next in a totally suicidal jump.

"_Samwane!_" Lucien bellowed, half panicked at the sight of his near death experience. "Get _down_, for Sithis' sake!"

"Catch me!" Sam called back with that voice that spanned millennia.

It must have taken a while, to get all that sound into one tiny little body. Which is probably why Sam had squeaked for so long. It had taken Falcar to break a wall down enough for them to fit.

Lucien started to say something before Eldamil laughed and cut him off.

"_Are you going to ignore a direct order from your superior?"_ he asked.

With a curse, Lucien realized he was right… and that he hadn't climbed a tree in ten years.

* * *

"You're an idiot, Samwane," Lucien muttered as they rode, still nursing his injured arm.

Sam was covered with scrapes, but grinning. He felt better than he had recently, and that was very good. It was like the storm clouds that had rolled in so quickly, had rolled right back out again. The storm had passed. He had Lucien, he had his freedom, he had his voice… well, _a_ voice.

"Lucien?" he asked at length. "Can I ask you a favor?"

Startled by the tone in those half a million voices, Lucien turned.

"Of course," he said, frowning. "But you'd do just as well to order me."

Sam shrugged.

"I need you to make me disappear." Then, as an afterthought, "and tell me the color of your eyes."

* * *

Farragut was freezing, but Sam was happy to see the inside of it again. Lucien checked his supplies, moving around the room methodically. Sam watched, feeling like he was floating somewhat outside himself.

Everything was going to change.

It was an odd thought— looking in the mirror and not recognizing himself any more. Odder still, that Lucien would be the one to do it, to initiate this change. But he wasn't afraid.

_Not afraid…_

The thought brought with it a crushing wave of joy, exhilaration. No more being too-stretched out, worried about politics and Ocato's rivals and who'd seen him on the street going where. No more worrying about losing Lucien, of being taken from his own life, of living life inside a figurative cage.

Catching him staring, Lucien smiled before slipping through the grate, down to the depths of Farragut where he kept his potions.

"We can leave your eyes the same, I think," he was saying as he walked. "You've a fairly common color."

Sam slipped off the bed and padded after him.

"I really doubt we can change the structure of my face enough to—"

Lucien turned with an absolutely wicked grin, but there was a flicker of something strange lurking in his eyes.

"You'd be surprised."

And then it was gone. Sam shook it off, and simply followed, watching as Lucien nodded to the guardians as though they were still alive, keeping one arm firmly around Sam's shoulders to mark his claim.

"You know," Lucien said at length, "I think you'd look decent as a blond."


	46. Chapter Forty Six

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Okay. I lied. To all those I said there would only be fifty chapters to? I was wrong. Fifty was just too huge. It's been split up into two chapters, which means there is now an equally long chapter 51. 50 and 51 are both big, but no longer super!huge.

So yeah. The 51st chapter is the last chapter. I am finished with this and starting a new project as we speak... read... communicate.

* * *

That look was back in Lucien's eyes as Sam sat down on the edge of the bed, freshly bleached hair scraping at his jaw. Vaguely irritated in realizing he'd forgotten to shave, and that the stubble would undoubtedly be his usual fire shade of red, Sam began to scratch.

Lucien frowned at him over his shoulder, pausing in the search of whatever it was he was looking for.

"Sam, I _loathe _that noise. Go shave."

Sam shrugged and padded over to the basin, rather suspected that Lucien loathed any noise at the moment, though not sure why.

_It's possible, you know, he loves you._

Which made absolutely no sense in the slightest, so Sam simply pushed the thought away and searched for the soap.

_He doesn't want to hurt you, you idiot._

Sam blinked.

_Oh._

Now that he'd thought about it, that look was rather obvious.

* * *

Sam tried not to concentrate on the way his entire head throbbed as he stared rather blankly at the woman he assumed to be Lucien's sister. The ride to the Skingrad sanctuary had been aching long and rather uneventful, ignoring the woman they'd seen at the side of the road, continually falling in the dust as she spewed curses at the gods. Something about carrots… or was is calipers?

"Listener," Lucien said rather pointedly, startling him from his musings.

"What?" Sam looked up, not bothering to pretend at being clever when the bridge of his nose had suddenly gained a pulse.

A rather frustrated series of gestures that followed, abbreviated so that Sabine couldn't see.

"You interrupted Lucien's moment," Vicente laughed, leaning against the wall, May tucked rather neatly under his arm. She was grinning as she ignored the lot of them, furtively slipping marbles into his pockets.

"Oh, right." Sam grinned brightly at the woman. "I appoint you as Speaker and mother of this guild hall as I cannot be expected to keep Lucien in line by myself."

Sabine laughed, eyes sparkling.

"Wherever did you find this one, Luc?" she asked. "I like him."

Lucien grit his teeth and glared off at the wall, but Sam could see the quiver of a smile hidden in the corner of his lips.

"May, Vicente," Sam said, turning to face the two of them. "You both need to get your collective ass back to Cheydinhal."

May laughed and stuck out her tongue.

"And what if I say no?"

Sam shrugged, smirking.

"Well, I simply thought you could play Speaker there for us. You've not advanced, but you're very pretty. And as Vicente looks too _dead_, the two of you together should be able to work something out."

Vicente smiled, a slow curling of his mouth until he looked absolutely wicked.

"Wonderful. We accept."

"We?" May pouted. "I don't get a say?"

"Well, I should think myself able to speak for you as my _wife_."

May blinked at him for a moment, before it really set in and ecstatic, she launched herself into his arms.

"This is all so very touching, Sam," Lucien whispered, hot breath whispering over the too-sensitive tip of his ear, "but we've still two Speakers to sever and two more to appoint."

* * *

Sam launched himself onto the bed within seconds of entering their room in the Two Sisters Lodge, curling up and under the blankets so that only his eyes showed.

Lucien looked distracted and rather upset, though Sam wasn't exactly sure why. With the sweetest smile he could manage, Sam lifted up the edge of the blanket, inviting Lucien in and looking thoroughly mischievous in doing so.

But Lucien only shook his head and set down his pack.

"Not tonight, Sam. I've other matters to attend to before we leave."

Sam sighed, peeking from his pile of bedding.

"You're leaving?"

He nodded with a flicker of what could have been a smile, before tossing his pack over by the bed.

"I should be back by morning. Take care of that for me."

"Yes, sir!" Sam saluted in an impersonation of Hieronymus that was lost amongst the million voices that made up his own.

A moment later he was nothing more than a bundle beneath the covers. Lucien watched the little Bosmer fold himself up under the sheets with a pained smile before leaving the room.

He was _way_ over his head here.

* * *

Sam wished his head would stop throbbing. Lucien had healed his nose so the swelling had gone down, but there was still the lingering ache that accompanied any breakage.

* * *

"_Hold very still," Lucien murmured, stroking two fingers down the bridge of Sam's nose, numbing it._

_"Could I have a drink first?" he asked, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes._

_But Lucien shook his head, looking strangely ill._

_"Best to save it for after. This is _really_ going to hurt."_

* * *

Sam wished he knew the spell Lucien had used to numb him. It made him feel ghostlike, but anything was better than a head full of rocks.

* * *

_"Lucien." Sam was trying very hard to keep from slurring, but he'd finished an entire bottle by himself and such things eluded him at this point._

_"Hush, Sam. You're drunk." But Lucien had been drinking too and by the lingering drawl to his words, Sam suspected the condition was shared._

_"So're you." It almost sounded intelligent. "But _I_ 'ave somethin' t' say."_

_"Oh? And what's that then?" Lucien purred, leaning in for a kiss._

_Sam rocked back, trying to gather up his thoughts and failing that, taking another drink instead._

_"I was awake the whole time. But I love you."_

* * *

Sam also wished he wasn't such a delirious idiot when he drank, as he rather suspected his confession had startled Lucien off. Which made no sense in the scheme of things… unless Lucien hadn't meant it when he told him the same. Or in realizing his feelings were returned, he discovered he hadn't actually felt it in the first place… or else he'd fallen out of love between _then_ and _now... _which knowing Lucien was entirely possible.

Sighing to himself, Sam closed his eyes and forced the thoughts off. Hopefully, the man would be back by morning. This bed was damn cold.

* * *

"But, sir. He's dead."

Ocato stared at the guard blankly.

"Pardon?"

"He's dead, sir. Are you sure you're feeling well?"

Ocato sighed, resisting the urge to run his fingers through his hair. He knew Sam was alive. He also knew he'd found some way to break through Evangeline's barrier. It should have been impossible, but Sam was gone and even the woman herself was finally admitting the inability to sense him in the tower.

This whole thing was utterly ridiculous, but there really wasn't anything he could do. Sam was gone and Cyrodill believed him dead. He'd won. They were without a champion once more and everything had fallen back onto the High Chancellor's shoulders.

"Ocato, leave it," Evangeline said, stepping out into the hall. "Come to bed."

Glancing back at her, he struggled with his thoughts for a moment before nodding to the guard and turning back to his room.

"This whole situation makes me uncomfortable," he announced, sitting down at his desk. "Half my guards think I'm mad, the Elder Council's turning against me and now Sam's buggered off to the Nine only know where…"

Evangeline shrugged, cutting him off before he could continue his rant.

"He's made his choice. Leave him be."

"Made his choice?" Ocato looked up, shocked. "He's going to get himself _killed_. And all for that wretched son of a—"

"Ocato," she laughed, shaking her head. "He's in _love_."

"He's an idiot. He's the Champion of Cyrodil. He's the man Martin left in charge. But I refuse to believe he's truly in love with that fetcher."

Evangeline shrugged again and checked the lock on the door.

"There are a good many people who would say the same of me."

Smiling, Ocato leaned back.

"You may be many things, Evangeline. But you're no champion."

That earned him a glare and a slap in the shoulder. Bad move, as shortly after he'd caught her and pulled her into his lap.

"Actually," he purred, nuzzling into her neck. "I seem to remember people mentioning what a brilliant match we made."

"Only because calling the High Chancellor a dirty fetcher to his face is considered bad form."

"Karo does."

"Karo has children older than you. She's entitled."

Ocato laughed and pulled her closer.

"I don't like it though. Lachance _killed_ him."

"Accidentally. And it all turned out well in the end."

"That link of theirs would be easily separated."

"You've an odd idea of easy. It'd take _years_."

"And it's exactly what Sam came here for in the first place."

"I think he was only scared."

"I'd be frightened too if I'd managed to bind myself to a murderer."

"That man loves him. Call it woman's intuition."

Ocato snorted.

"Woman's intuition, my ass."

"He got through Sam's fire. The same fire that melted the shield you threw around him, burnt the guards from twenty feet away and turned a good bit of the stone in the entry way to molten rock. And _he_ passed through it with barely a burn."

"The bond explains that well enough."

Evangeline smiled, running her fingers through his hair.

"Yes, but not why he leapt through in the first place."


	47. Chapter Forty Seven

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Sam's hair is **blond** now, remember.

* * *

It was late, but there was a fire burning inside the house, lighting one side of the ogre's face as it slept in the yard. Shadowmere pranced towards the stables the moment he dismounted, happy to be home again. And praying to Sithis his sisters had gone off somewhere, Lucien slipped inside.

"I was wondering when you'd be back," his mother said without turning, focused on hemming the silk draped over her lap. "What is it you've come for?"

"Advice," he murmured, hanging his cloak by the door. "I'm in over my head."

She looked at him and in the black of the room, it was obvious there was a shimmer of magic creeping from under his shirt. Slowly, she smiled, nodding to herself.

"You're glowing, Lucien."

"Sam does as well," he said as he sat, shrinking a little into the overstuffed chair. "Something to do with how he resurrected me, I assume."

"You assume?" she chuckled, turning back to her sewing.

Lucien shrugged.

"Vicente mentioned he'd bound himself to me. Ocato said we were... _mates_. I'm not certain of anything anymore. To be completely honest, mother, I'm terrified."

She was silent for a long moment, knowing just what it'd taken for him to admit that.

"You love him." It wasn't a question.

"I do."

"Have you told him?"

A pause as he remembered the feeling of being crushed beneath a wave of emotions, holding Sam as he slept… remembering Sam's nonsense in the midst of his drunken, painful haze.

_"I was awake the whole time. But I love you."_

"I might have," he said at last.

She gave him _The Look_.

"He willingly bound his soul to yours to save your life and you can't so much as bother to be _blunt_?" she shook her head. "I pity the poor boy."

Lucien frowned.

"I don't think you understand."

"No, I understand more than you do. That's the problem. Lucien, _think_. Would he have risked death if he didn't love you?"

Lucien was silent, thinking of the look in Sam's eyes when he'd said he was leaving, of the fading bruises on his hips and what Antoinetta has said… of the way Sam had stolen his sword as they rode to Skingrad and laughed so hard when Lucien finally caught him, he'd almost fallen from the horse… of the way his nose crinkled like a kitten's when he muttered Lucien's name in his sleep.

The widow Lachance smiled.

"I'm not sure I see your problem. Tell him properly and have it done with. When he appointed you Mute, I'm fairly certain he didn't mean it literally."

Lucien laughed, feeling lighter.

"You heard?"

She nodded.

"Sabine mentioned as much. I must say, I'm impressed." Smiling then, she looked up. "Even if you _are_ sleeping with him."

* * *

His head throbbed, the bed was too cold, the noises below him too strange and too frequent. Sam gave up trying to sleep and slipped out of bed, shouldering his bag as he juggled Lucien's. He was off to find some proper company. Namely that of 16.5 Bosmers, one vampire, one female Lachance and, if all went well, a very large keg.

"I've got an idea!" May said with a conspiratorial whisper that could wake the dead. "Let's play a game."

Sam giggled from where he hung on the ceiling, in grave danger of spilling his ale over the head of the Bosmer directly under him.

"What sort o' game?" he slurred, not bothering to keep himself from it for two reasons.

One, he was far too drunk for such things. And two, Lucien was not here to impress.

"I dunno." May said, looking suddenly crestfallen.

"We could sing!" Someone called before starting in on The Lonely Farmer's Daughter and Her Magic Carrot.

"Sod off!" Called another. "We've had at that three times already. If I get the bit about the gnome stuck in my head again, I'll have all your heads."

"I would like to play a game," a female Bosmer this time, from the far side of the ceiling Sam was clinging to. She'd already spilled two of her tankards, one on Vicente who had _not_ been pleased, and another on the unsuspecting Nord who'd come in to get a pint. They'd both left, presumably for clean clothing, though Vicente had been muttering something about May and sweet rolls at the time.

Very carefully, Sam knocked back the rest of his pint before tossing down the tankard to better do his back flips across the ceiling. They weren't proper back-flips really, as that would have sent him crashing to the ground.

No, these were his having discovered somewhere after his second pint, that if he bent all the way backwards, he could stick his hands to the ceiling and pull his feet around in a funny sort of prolonged summersault. But seeing as how they gave his head a lovely _whooshy_ feeling, he'd been doing them for most of the night.

"Knock it off, Samwane," a black haired mer called from his place slumped against the far wall. "I'd beat you by a mile if I could feel my legs."

Sam laughed and tripped, falling to hang by the ceiling from one hand.

"I've got an idea," he announced, only after he'd fallen flat onto the table. "Let's play prisoners."

Which gave the two sandy haired twins guarding the keg a _better_ idea.

"We know a better game," said the one on the left.

"Capture the Nord," said the one on the right.

And coming to an instantaneous, mass agreement, seventeen and a half mischievous, grinning Bosmers scampered from the room.

* * *

Fafnir has expected to get a nice tankard of ale and go to bed. Failing that, he had expected simply to go to bed. He had _not_ expected to wake up paralyzed to a room packed full of Bosmers, one of which, a blond he didn't recognize, looming over him with a wicked grin.

"You jus' go back t' sleep now. Nothin' t' see here."

And then he was being hoisted up by four of them, five huddled close around those as together they sprinted for the stairs.

"Oh bugger," he said. Or rather, would have said had he not been paralyzed. "Not again."

* * *

Lucien returned a few hours after midnight. He'd not actually expected to make it back before sunrise, but returning home had made everything very clear. Sam was not the Champion of Cyrodill. He had not slept with Ocato. There was no danger of losing him. Perhaps he had fallen in over his head, but Sam had fallen just as hard and as long as they were together nothing mattered.

Certainly not the fact that he'd just muddled his metaphors.

Grinning to himself, Lucien took the steps to their room two at a time… only to find the bed unmade and the room deserted.

Well, that certainly ruled out a cuddle then.

* * *

"We should take 'im up t' the castle," Sam said, trying to wake his strategist self and realizing that was impossible. "Hassildor's a good sport."

"There's Salmo," said another on his team, nine of them in total. Whereas the other team had eight and one half, as May wasn't full blooded Bosmer.

"Salmo's no good. He gets aggravated when we run through there," another said.

"Look you," a girl this time, the pretty one with a habit of spilling her ale. "Salmo is a beautiful person an' I don' want you upsetting him. I swear, if the lot o' ye interrupt one more cuddle, I'll—"

"The Three Sisters!" Sam shouted suddenly. "We can pick 'em off the stairs from the roof an' its defenses are _brilliant!_"

Namely the defense that Lucien would be returning home soon and if he had to wade through an approaching army of Bosmers, it was possible in his irritation, he could be persuaded to join the proper side.

* * *

Lucien had been expecting a lot of things. Stepping out of the inn to find Sam rushing towards him, carrying a stiff-as-a-board Nord over his head was _not_ one of them.

"Samwane, _what_ are you doing?"

Sam grinned, noticing him for the first time, a mischievous, slightly tipsy look to his eyes.

"You said you wouldn't be back 'till morning."

Cocking a brow, Lucien tried very hard not to laugh.

"So you kidnap a Nord? Could you not wait until I returned?"

Safe in the joke as now he understood, _trusted_ that Sam couldn't sleep with another if he wanted to. The Bosmer grinned, reveling in Lucien's good humor when he'd been a paranoid mess before he left.

"Why're you back?"

But before he could answer, eight drunken Bosmers, led by May, rounded the corner. Suddenly two dozen war cries filled the air in a language he didn't recognize, a cacophony of noise that woke the entire city the moment before seventeen and one half Bosmer collided.

Lucien watched from the relative safety of the stairs as they attacked each other with generally harmless spells. Sam was having a ball of it, climbing on the walls, paralyzing people left and right.

He couldn't quite make sense of the game, but the point of it seemed to be who could carry off poor Fafnir first. Especially seeing as how the three others who had been carrying him were now attempting to drag him up the side of a nearby building.

Waiting until Sam darted rather inelegantly close, he paralyzed the little Bosmer himself and carefully pried him from the wall.

"Come along, Samwane. You're drunk off your head and I expect you to be up early."

"Lucien!" Sam grunted, struggling as the spell wore off. "Put me down!"

Lucien smirked, pulling him closer.

"No need to play the blushing bride, Sam," he said and stepped inside, just as outside, Vicente had finally caught up to May, shouting something about his favorite cloak having been tied to the very top of the chapel while she giggled from her perch on the windowsill.

Lucien smiled then as Sam was laughing, an arm thrown around his neck. And he decided how bloody wonderful it was to have family.


	48. Chapter Forty Eight

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Sam's hair is still **blond**.

* * *

"Samwane," Lucien purred in his ear. "Wake up." 

Under different circumstances, that gravelly command would have warranted slamming Lucien against the wall and ravaging him repeatedly.

Not. Today.

Not only did his nose throb, but now his entire head was a jumbled, cottony, aching mess and there was no way he was getting out of bed, much less ravaging anyone.

"Lemmie alone," he muttered into his pillow, attempting to jackknife his body around it without moving.

Lucien chuckled, that dark seductive rumble that got him what he wanted every time.

"Samwane," a lilting, teasing tune that didn't bode well. "We need to leave soon or we'll never reach Cheydinhal before nightfall."

"As your Listener, I'm telling you to bugger off."

"I'm afraid I can't manage it alone, love."

And Sam found himself hauled out of bed and onto the floor in a pile of half warm blankets.

"Lucien!"

"Yes, pet?"

Sam couldn't see him but he could _hear_ the smirk. Hung over as he was, he couldn't readily think of an appropriate insult. So he settled for a Bosmeri one, involving dismembered bits of mud crabs in very inconvenient places and the enjoyment of various activities involving mostly mages' staffs and mud.

Lucien was nearly crying when he reached the end of his tirade, laughing so hard he'd fallen back to sit on the bed.

"Where in the hell did you learn _that_?" he choked out at last, wiping a sleeve over his eyes.

Sam glared amidst his pile of blanket and aimed a kick for where he expected Lucien's shin to be.

Still laughing, Lucien rose from the bed, nudging the shifting pile of blankets as he passed.

"I'm off to have a bath, Sam. I expect you to be ready by the time I'm done."

And not really comprehending this as a threat, merely grateful that Lucien had gone away, Sam slipped back into sleep.

* * *

Lucien was not an idiot. He knew damn well Sam wasn't going to wake up. But the poor boy was just so sweet clinging to his blankets, nose scrunched as he fended him off with a sleepy, half violent wave. It wouldn't hurt to let the boy sleep a half hour more. 

Smiling to himself, Lucien wandered off to draw the bath, Sam's sleepy protests echoing through his head.

* * *

Sam wrinkled his nose at the feeling of water on his face. Why was it raining? He was fairly certain he'd fallen asleep _inside_. Especially seeing as how he definitely remembered Lucien being an ass and pulling him out of bed. Which meant the inn was leaking. 

Frowning, he wiped the water from his cheek and rolled over. Or rather, _attempted_ to roll over. Because before he could get the proper momentum worked up, he found his hips pinned to the floor by something very heavy.

"Lucien," he muttered, trying to roll over again. "The ceiling's fallen down again."

And promptly fell back asleep.

* * *

From his position astride the boy's lap, Lucien tried very hard not to laugh. He couldn't fathom what it was Sam was dreaming about, but whatever it was, it was absolutely insane. 

"Sam, did I not make it expressively clear that I wanted you out of bed before I returned?"

"I'm outta bed," came the half muffled, sleepy response.

"Get up."

"Can't. The ceiling's fallen over again."

Chuckling, Lucien pushed a strand of wet hair from his eyes.

"The ceiling's fine, Sam."

"Aye. _It's_ sleeping. Bugger off."

As amusing as it would have been to stay there and explore Sam's half asleep logic, they really did have to leave if they wanted to make their way around to Cheydinhal before nightfall.

"Samwane, wake up. We're late already."

"Bloody late," came the muffled reply, as Sam seemed to be trying to smother himself sideways into his pillow. "Listeners are never late. How can I be bloody late?" a brief struggle before Sam waved an arm at him. "Fix the gods damned ceiling, Lucien!"

"Open your eyes, Sam."

"Can't. Sleeping."

"Samwane."

"You're my bloody Silencer! Lemmie alone."

"I'm _your_ Silencer?" Lucien asked in his most deadly, authoritative tone, stifling a smile.

Sam was never very intelligent when he first woke up. Nothing really seemed to make sense and his logic was haywire at best. Realizing that it was immensely possible he'd only dreamed he was Listener and that he'd just pissed the hell out of his Speaker, Sam jolted upright, smashing his poor, already smashed nose into Lucien's shoulder.

In his defense, Lucien wasn't entirely sure he _could_ have kept from laughing.

* * *

They rode to Chorral in relative silence, punctuated only by Lucien's occasional snickering. 

"Stop," Sam snapped at last, glaring at Lucien.

The man only smirked at him, looking even more devilishly handsome with the new bruise high on his left cheek.

"Stop what, dearest Listener?"

"Stop laughing, you _ass_."

"Stop sulking."

Sam glared.

"As Listener, I can sulk anywhere I want to."

Lucien chuckled.

"Then you'll have to forgive me, as I find your pouting amusing."

"_Ass_," he hissed again, to no effect.

Leaning over in the saddle, Lucien stole a kiss and smirked to see the look in Sam's eyes, just before the funny little Bosmer tried to push him off his horse.

Silence sat comfortably between them for a moment before suddenly, Sam's face lit up. He turned, looking incredibly devilish.

"Race you to Chorral."

Lucien grinned.

"What do I get when I win?"

Magic dancing over his fingers, Sam laughed.

"I don't think you could catch me if you tried, old man."

And then he was flying down the dirt road, laughing as Lucien's fireball bounced from his shield of energy.

"Minx," he muttered, though he was smirking as he spurred his horse on.

Shadowmere was the fastest horse in Cyrodill, true. But he knew something Sam did not. Riding as close as he could, Lucien brought two fingers to his mouth… 

And _whistled_.

* * *

By the time they reached Chorral, they certainly weren't the most threatening pair. Sam had been covered in mud when Shadowmere bucked him off, and again when he'd had to tackle Lucien. Somewhere along the line there'd been a general throwing of any spell that came to mind and there was a good possibility the mud in their hair was permanently frozen. 

Lucien now had a bruise on his chin to match the one on his cheek, his robe ripped into an impromptu tunic. Sam's nose had once again turned an ugly shade of purple, he was missing his entire right sleeve, and half his hair was standing on end from the irritating shock spell Lucien had thrown at him now frozen stiff with mud.

But they were laughing though as they made their way down into the sanctuary, to face the startled Speaker within.

"_Lachance?"_ the dark elf asked, blinking as he stood from his seat before the fire. "What in the hell happened to you? And who is this?"

"We had a… difference of opinion," he said at last, smirking ever so slightly. "And this happens to be the Listener."

The mer frowned, but Sam cast a quick illusion spell that turned his hair back to red, pushed his nose into the right position, and molded his cheekbones differently.

"Ah… I see. And what brings you to my sanctuary, Listener?"

"Drink this," Sam said, holding up a funny looking little bottle.

The mer only stared at it. Not only did he feel like his every emotion was being torn from his throat at the sound of that voice, but he realized that the offered bottle was half melted and that if whatever was in it could melt glass, there was no way he was drinking it.

"Forgive me, Listener, but—"

"That was an _order_," Lucien snapped, drawing his sword in a split second. And suddenly he did not look so much ridiculous and dangerously insane.

"Right." If he was to die either way, best to risk the potion. Lucien was _not_ known for being merciful.

He took the potion from Sam and downed it in a single gulp, wincing at the syrupy sweet taste. But the Listener was smiling, Lucien had put his sword away, and suddenly it seemed like a very, _very_ good day.

"So…" Sam said at last. "How well do you like Arquen?"

He laughed and stepped back to offer them seats before the fire.

"Does _anyone_ like that pig bitch?" Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he realized he should probably be keeping this to himself. "I can't _stand_ her. No one can. We'd have killed her already if she weren't your favorite."

"Favorite?" Lucien growled, frowning. "Who in the hell told you that?"

The dark elf shrugged.

"She did. Wine?"

Sam smiled and accepted the glass, sitting down on the rug before the fire to keep from getting mud on the furniture.

"Wonderful. Now this _we_ you mentioned?"


	49. Chapter Forty Nine

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Two more chapters left, and chances are, you'll get them both tomorrow. Whee!

* * *

"You know, I haven't got my hands properly dirty in ages," Lucien said as they rode along towards Bruma.

"Vicente said you were the one to take care of Motierre's mother."

Lucien shrugged.

"Consider that statement. Motierre's _mother_. She was barely alive to begin with."

Laughing, Sam leaned over ever so slightly to pick his pocket while he wasn't looking.

"I'm sure Arquen will oblige you and make a proper mess."

"Sam?" Lucien chuckled, trapping the hand in his pocket. "What are you looking for?"

Sam grinned sheepishly and reclaimed his hand.

"Nothing."

It was hard enough pick pocketing on horseback. But pick-pocketing Lucien was nearly impossible. Because the thing you wanted was _always_ at the very bottom of his pocket, and his pockets were _always_ crammed full of paper, candy, lock picks, keys and whatever else he found small and pocket-able.

But he'd gotten what he wanted at least, even though he'd been caught. Grinning to himself, Sam slipped the tiny little vial into his own pocket. And so they continued on in comfortable silence with Lucien musing on Sam's odd moods and Sam musing on when exactly he could slip the contents of the vial into Lucien's drink.

* * *

Bruma's sanctuary was firmly underground, accessed only by a hidden door in the very basement of Olav's Tap and Tack since the cave-in in the caverns outside the city. Sam marveled as Lucien led him down the winding staircase, one hand pressed firmly to the small of his back. He'd slept off many a drunken night in this inn. More than he could count had been in Olav's lower set of rooms. He'd even spent a night in the room _right beside_ the door and still never suspected a thing.

Lucien was right, he realized. He wasn't ready to be Listener. Of course, he'd known this before in some form or another, but never had it been illustrated so clearly. How could he be expected to keep the members of the Hand in line when he couldn't even find them on his own?

"Stay very close to me," Lucien whispered in his ear. "I'm not sure where their guardians are."

"They have guard_ians_? As in, more than one?"

"Hush!" he snapped, pulling him closer. "Yes. They have quite a few. None of them exactly… dead. Now stay very close. They don't know you and I'd just as soon not have to pry your corpse from the ceiling."

"I'm not sure I under—" and then Lucien was dragging him into the shadows, a gloved hand clapped firmly over his mouth.

"What part of _silence_ is _beyond you_?" he growled. "If I have to knock you out and carry you, I will. I assure you, it would make my life a hell of a lot easier."

"If you'd just tell me what we're hiding from." Sam grumbled, mostly muffled.

"Things that want to eat you. Now keep—" the last of his sentence was cut off as a great section of rock pulled away from the wall, two angry little red eyes glowing eight feet up from the ground.

Lucien shoved Sam behind him and glowered at the thing before him, staring it down. A moment later he was speaking in a language Sam had never heard before— a beautiful, haunting sound that called up an odd, shivery feeling into the pit of his stomach. But Lucien only got louder, advancing on the giant rock-beast, seeming somehow larger despite the fact the thing towered a good two feet over him.

As the sound increased, so too did the strange feeling. It was like being prized apart by gentle, insistent fingers and torn in two separate directions. Heart thudding in his chest, he slumped against the wall, only watching as Lucien forced the thing back into its hole and finally, _finally_ stopped talking.

Seeing the state Sam was in, he laughed, pulling him up from the ground.

"I should have suspected you'd enjoy that," he said, an arm under Sam's to keep him upright.

"Enjoyed it?" Sam hissed, feeling strangely empty in the absence of the sound. "That was the most strange, uncomfortable, vaguely erotic thing that's ever happened to me. What _was_ it?"

"Ayleidic," he said, smirking. "I imagine that was simply the first time you've heard it pronounced properly."

"Where in the hell did you learn to speak Ayleidic?" Sam growled, finally able to stand properly.

Lucien laughed.

"From an Ayleid. She was very, very old, and very, _very_ good in bed."

"You're a liar, Lucien," he grumbled. "A filthy, fetching liar."

"Alright, so she wasn't _pure_ Ayleid," he conceded, chuckling as he pulled Sam close. "But that doesn't change anything."

Sam wanted to reply, to say something immensely clever that would make a point and Lucien laugh. But then he realized just how many little red eyes were staring from the wall and he decided that being quiet was probably a very good idea.

"It's alright now," Lucien said, smiling, one arm still tucked firmly around his waist. "You've already woken them up. They should stay in place. They know you're mine."

"I'm _yours_?" Sam spluttered, laughing. "Who's the Listener here?"

Lucien smirked and leaned in to nip at the very sensitive tip of his ear.

"Who just saved your lovely ass?"

"Ah," Sam said, trying desperately to collect his thoughts. "Point taken."

* * *

The Speaker of the guildhall was insane. It was really the only explanation for… well, _everything_. Mostly for the fact that she had ten stone golems guarding the stairs, a Dunmer wandering around half naked and a large, vaguely transparent rabbit that _stared_ at them from the corner of the large couch. But then, Sam was also vaguely certain this was the woman he'd seen running around Cyrodill in a hodge-podge of armor, mostly because the armor in question was sitting in the corner. Except, of course, for her greaves which were currently the only item of clothing _on_ the mostly naked Dunmer, for no reason that was readily apparent.

Also, there was a sheep on her robe.

Trying very hard not to stare, Sam smiled pleasantly as Lucien handed her the second of twisted potion bottles and demanded that she drink.

"What is it?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at the bottle in her hand.

"I outrank you," Lucien growled. "Drink."

"I outnumber you," she countered. And then added, "or rather, _we_ do. Though to be honest, your Listener doesn't look that heavy."

Sam jerked out of his thoughts abruptly, finding himself suddenly three feet from the ground. But before Lucien could react, Sam disappeared.

There had been a reason to it, actually. He knew how to get down out of the spell, but it was immensely inelegant and as the new Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, he absolutely could not be seen squirming upside down in midair. But apparently, the strange mad woman could see through his chameleon spell, because she burst out laughing the moment he began to wriggle free, and gently set him down.

"What is it?" she asked once she'd collected herself, sniffing the mouth of the bottle gingerly. "A truth potion? What is it you want to know?"

"Are you one of Arquen's loyalists?" Sam asked, moving to sit down on the couch and wondering if petting the rabbit was entirely safe.

"Who?" the Dunmer asked, looking up.

"The Altmer with the pig nose," she supplied, before turning back to look at Sam, who was fishing in his pockets. "She has loyalists?"

"Stop avoiding the question," Lucien growled, taking a threatening step forward.

But the woman only laughed.

"What is it you want me to say? That I only got this job because of her? That I would give my life before I see her come to any harm? That she will slaughter your mothers and skip rope with their entrails?"

The Dunmer sniggered to himself at the last, and picked up a cup of tea from the table.

"Cheers!"

Lucien glared.

"I've had enough of this." And then he stopped, catching sight of Sam from the corner of his eye. "_Listener_, what are you doing?"

It was rather painfully obvious what Sam was doing actually. Apparently he'd found a carrot in one of his many pockets and was now happily petting the semi-visible rabbit in his lap.

"What?" Sam asked, rather intelligently given the fact that he'd just jerked out of a rabbit-cuddle induced reverie.

The woman smiled.

"Give her a raisin. She likes raisins."

Sam looked around a moment, and seeing no raisins readily apparent, began to dig in the cushions of the couch while attempting to keep the rabbit happily munching on her carrot.

Lucien blinked, wondering if the whole Brotherhood hadn't somehow gone mad in his short absence. Because it was entirely possible. Such things had happened before. Making a mental note to speak to the Night Mother about it, he ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.

"Just drink the potion."

"No, thank you," she said with a smile, setting the potion to one side. "You've put too many strawberries into it and made the syrup too sweet. That's more love potion than truth serum. Why don't I just promise to be a good girl and answer your questions properly?"

Lucien glanced over at Sam, who was _not_ being a proper Listener in the least. He'd found the raisins apparently, as he now held in his lap a small leather sack, and was feeding them one by one to the rabbit who had somehow perched herself on his shoulder.

"Samwane," he snapped, patience wearing thin. "Stop feeding the damned rabbit."

Sam turned and stuck out his tongue, but he was positive that rabbit _glared_.

"Sam," he said again, refusing to be intimidated by a bloody rabbit.

The Bosmer sighed and very carefully pulled the rabbit off his shoulder and set her back into her spot.

"There you go, sweetheart. No, I don't _own_ his soul… yes, I probably should consider it." Another, longer pause. "I not sure that would solve anything… or if that is even physically possible. I don't think Lucien's that flexible."

A rather pointed cough and Sam frowned, making a _later_ gesture to the rabbit before turning to face his lover.

"What?"

Gritting his teeth, Lucien pulled him aside.

"Why are you _talking_ to that rabbit? Have you lost your mind?"

Sam shrugged.

"She's not really a rabbit anymore. She's dead."

Which explained why Sam could hear her. Sighing, Lucien pressed his fingers to the throbbing pulse in his temple and tried to keep his calm.

"Ask her your questions and come along, Sam. It's already too late to ride for Cheydinhal and I'd like to get a decent room before the lot of them fill up."

"We're not staying here?" he asked, frowning.

Lucien gave him a _look_.

"I did not become Speaker so I could sleep with every other flea bag murderer in this city."

Trying hard not to laugh at the double entendre, Sam nodded and pretending to be serious, turned to the Speaker.

"Do you like Arquen?"

The woman laughed.

"No one does." And seeing the look Lucien was giving her, "and that includes myself."

"Right then. I'm satisfied."

Sam turned to give the rabbit one last cuddle before heading for the stairs.

"Coming?" he asked, turning to look at Lucien who, despairing that the guild would ever be the same again, followed.

* * *

Lucien watched the book crawl across the room, slinking across the bed covers before making its way into Sam's hands.

"Where did you learn that pathetic excuse for a telekinesis spell, Sam?" he asked, a yawn caught between his words. "I should think the leader of the Dark Brotherhood could throw a man across the room with a thought and you can't even move a book."

Sam glared at him, cracking open his book with a decisive jerk.

"I made up my own," he snapped, glaring. "It works well enough for me."

Lucien was silent a moment, a smirk curling at his lips.

"It's really only a matter of technique," he purred, _knowing_ it got him what he wanted every time. "Pick up that basin over there and I'll show you."

Frowning now, Sam reached out to grab the edge. Suddenly, he could feel the tendrils of Lucien's mind curling around his own and it was possibly the most arousing, mind-shattering thing the man had ever done. And that included the lovely trick he could do with his tongue. Swallowing hard, Sam tried desperately not to drop the basin, but it was very hard considering the only thing he really wanted to do was turn and ravage the man next to him.

Lucien was really smirking now, knowing full well what he was doing. Sam had walked _right into_ his trap. Which was no more than he deserved.

The little minx should have known better than to slip the aphrodisiac into his dinner, after all.


	50. Chapter Fifty

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

* * *

The next morning, Lucien had the good luck to get Sam out of bed early and so they arrived in Cheydinhal before the sun had properly risen, the mist from the river still billowing out over the streets.

Sam, of course, was dancing in it and Lucien almost felt like joining in. Today was a wonderful day. He had his brilliant little elf at his side, everyone was convinced the Champion of Cyrodill was dead and Arquen…

Arquen was about to be slaughtered in the most brilliant, horrible, poetic way possible. Because Lucien had woken up with _the_ perfect plan. And while it involved a bit of shopping and a bit of theft, it was _flawless_.

Jogging a bit to catch up with the Bosmer attempting to make mist-rings, Lucien caught him around the shoulders, pulling him into a quick hug before spinning off.

"I've a few things I need before we can go down," he said softly, very aware of the beggars sleeping nearby. "Should we appear together, do you think, or would you rather wait below?"

Sam grinned at him and leaned down to suck in the mist before blowing a ring in his direction.

"Mach-Na opens soon. I ordered a book from her weeks ago and she mentioned having located a copy in Morrowind. It should be in by now. I think I'll go below to read it. Best not to seem unusual."

From the look on his face, Lucien knew the book he'd ordered had been something incredibly perverse and that more likely than not he wanted to show it to May before Lucien could find it. He grinned, pulling his cloak a little closer to him as the unsettled magic beneath his shirt glowed strongly enough to show through.

"Love you too, Lucien," Sam laughed, blew a mist-ring into his mouth and scampered off.

Laughing and coughing up half-frozen mist, Lucien turned in time to see him chug down a potion and scamper up the side of the chapel.

Vicente was going to have to rein that woman of his in. She was entirely too much of a bad influence on his Sam.

* * *

Sam was pounced upon as soon as he reached the bottom of the ladder, May sweeping him up in a giant, rib-crushing hug.

"You have been gone far too long, Listener," she whispered once she'd finally set him down. "Arquen is driving the lot of us crazy and if you don't kill her, _I_ will."

"Oh, piss. What's happened? Actually, wait. Where is she?"

"She's stolen Ocheeva's room. The training room is where everyone else has gone off to. Except Vicente," she said and frowned, before grabbing his hand. "Let's talk in the kitchens. No one ever goes there since the ghost moved in."

"Ghost?"

"She's nice. Said her name was Antoinetta. She likes to make soup. Which, of course, pisses off Vicente."

There was something in the way she said it that begged the question.

"I take it everything pisses Vicente off at the moment?"

Aggravated, she nodded and slipped into the kitchen, automatically going to the very furthest corner. Sam followed and they sat together, shoulder-to-shoulder, backs against the wall.

"What happened?" he asked, eyes on the door.

"Arquen won't leave. It's been a constant battle since we got here. Of course, first step we took inside the door, she was trying to order Vicente about. And you know how Vicente gets if you tell him to do anything. You have to _suggest_ rather politely and act as though it's very important, but doesn't bother you too much, and of course this is completely lost on that pig bitch."

Sam waited, watching as May took a deep breath.

"She storms over as soon as we get in, yelling at Vicente for leaving when she's got contracts that need done. She hands him this lists of names and _orders_ that he have them dead by the end of the week."

"Which pissed him off?"

May ran her hands through her dark hair, pulling it away from her face, obviously very upset.

"He just went very quiet when she said it. Vicente is always quiet, but this was different. He just… _looked_ at her, and dropped the list and said something like he'd sooner snap her neck than listen to her voice another second. And of course, she starts shouting and tells him to get out of _her_ sanctuary, which starts a huge, horrible game of who's-in-charge. And Vicente's pissed as hell. He barely speaks, won't eat…"

She swallowed hard then, and began inspecting the stone beneath her feet. Sam frowned. Granted, he hadn't known this woman very long, but in his experience a silent May was an intensely unhappy May.

"What'd he do?" he prodded gently.

May took another deep, shaking breath and he realized she was trying not to cry.

"For Sithis' sake, woman," she said in eerie imitation of him, despite the quivering in her voice. "Get _out!_ For once in your miserable life, _leave me alone_."

Sam was silent. He didn't know what one said to that.

"I think Arquen may have sucked out his brain," he said at last, hoping he'd at least get a smile.

He did, a very quick one and a bit of a snort before May leaned back against the wall and tucked her legs up very close to her chest.

"I don't know what to do."

"Well, I'd suggest taking a very large rock to his head, but I'm not sure that would help much."

He got a real smile then and a light punch in the arm.

"About _Arquen_."

"Lucien has a plan. He's getting rope at the moment, I'd imagine, so you won't have to worry about her much longer." And then at the look on her face, "it's more than that, isn't it?"

She nodded, sniffling slightly.

"Vicente never yells. And yet he'll shout at me before he'll shout at Arquen. Why?"

"Maybe he has a plan that involves Arquen hearing him upset with you?" he offered at length, feeling rather warbley about the whole thing.

But May shook her head.

"He was furious. Really furious. He'd have told me if he had a plan. And he wouldn't have kept _going_."

"There's more?" Sam frowned.

May shrugged.

"I talk too much," she said, eyeing the stone floor again. "He thinks I'm childish and spoilt. He can't stand the sight of me."

It was then Sam realized that she was compulsively rubbing the third finger of her left hand— twisting a ring that wasn't there to twist.

"You really were engaged then?"

She nodded, eyes narrowing as a tremor ran through her shoulders.

"I gave him back his stupid, fetching ring. He can bloody well keep it if he thinks he can go about shouting at me like that."

"What set him off?" Sam asked, frowning at the wall. Vicente was always so even-tempered. Granted, this business with Arquen would push anyone to their limits but Vicente?

May shrugged and kicked a loose bit of gravel.

"I asked him if he was bloody well hungry. I thought it would make him feel better if he fed. Apparently I'm not supposed to worry about him at all. Well, he can take his stupid ring and suck rocks for all I care, I—"

"What are you doing in the kitchen?" Lucien asked from the doorway, a coil of rope draped over his shoulder, along with an odd looking corset.

"Vicente's being an ass," Sam supplied, standing. "And I am rather irritated with him."

"Oh, Sithis," Lucien muttered. And then, because he knew Sam, "is this going to take long? I was promised a very messy murder."

"It's not going to take any time at all," May said, standing, wiping a sleeve over her face. "I'm not talking to him and neither is Sam. Come along. What's this brilliant plan of yours then?"

* * *

He'd been terrified that May was too much of a child to realize what _marriage_ actually meant. He'd worried that she was only really in it for the sex, and once his newness wore off, she'd discard him. He'd thought that perhaps it was only the power than intrigued her— sleeping her way up. And what with the two of them Speakers… with Arquen challenging that claim…

He'd been terrified, more than anything, of losing her, of being the last to realize when the game was through. And so he'd snapped.

_Get them before they get you_.

Funny how now his world had narrowed to a ring, and the bit of paper it sat on. Funny how he'd once boasted no man could hurt him, and yet May could destroy him with a single word.

_LIAR_

Carved so deep into the paper, it'd broken through in places, Vicente realized just how mistaken he'd been.

Funny how one word could convey so many.

_You said you loved me. You _promised_ me. You swore. Liar. Liar! How could you?_

Funny how he'd never felt less like laughing.

Screaming from the room above him finally caught his attention and he looked up. From the ringing in his ears, it had been going on quite awhile, he'd simply been too preoccupied to notice. Striding to the trap door, he removed the chain from the rock that kept it held in place and leapt up through the opening.

He had been expecting to find May with a bunch of fresh recruits attempting to strangle Arquen.

He had _not_ been expecting to find May, Lucien and Sam attempting to subdue and tie the mer down long enough to fit her into the funny, flat corset Lucien was close to beating her with.

May had one of those, he realized. She wore it when she masqueraded through town as a man, as it kept her… assets hidden. Not quite sure whether to laugh or sweep May up into a hug and beg forgiveness, he simply stood to the side and watched.


	51. Chapter Fifty One

Title: Mourner's Dawn

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Lucien Lachance/OMC

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: The end. _The end. **The end. THE END.**_ Yes! You have no idea how glee-full I am.

* * *

He was giving her the puppy-dog eyes. May _hated_ the puppy-dog eyes. Because when Vicente had the puppy-dog eyes, he looked very small, very vulnerable and she always wanted nothing more than to sweep him up into a hug and hold him until he smiled again. 

And that was _not_ going to work today. Because he had pushed her _way too far_. He could go on giving her the puppy-dog eyes all day if he liked. She wasn't coming to bed. Hell, she wasn't even going to _look_ at the self-serving little bastard.

Punching Arquen in the side of the head as the woman's flailing nearly gave her a black eye, she struggled to hold her down.

"Careful!" Lucien snapped. "I need her alive."

"I could always bring her back," Sam suggested. "Though it would be risky. Sithis is probably rather aggravated with his missing voice by now. If he's got mine, I can't imagine people find him very threatening."

Unless his Ayleid found Bosmers attractive. In which case, the voice trade totally made sense.

"I refuse to let you risk your life for this fetcher," Lucien growled, attempting to paralyze her again in hopes her shield had worn off. "I wouldn't be heartbroken if she didn't die properly. Just rather disappointed."

Sam laughed, nudging him with a hip.

"And Sithis knows you're easy to live with when you're disappointed."

"Point taken."

May bit her lip and tried very hard to ignore them. Because their being in love around her made it painfully obvious that Vicente was still in the farthest corner of the room looking at her with those bloody puppy-dog eyes.

Probably wanted to apologize… the fetcher.

Gritting her teeth, she considered breaking Arquen's arm to fit it properly into the binder corset, but thought Lucien wouldn't really appreciate it. Still, it was a bit trying to have the idiot pig's breasts flopping about, Sam and Lucien flirting like nothing was wrong in the world and Vicente burning a hole in her back.

And then his gaze was gone, Vicente striding across the room to grab Arquen's arms and pin them against the bed. May knew from experience, fighting against him was like fighting against a statue, but she was _not pleased_ that he'd gone and taken her job from her.

"Bugger off," she snapped, glaring at him. "We were managing just fine without you."

"May—" he started, those puppy-dog eyes back again.

But she was not about to listen, because she knew the moment she did, she'd cave into that bloody _look_ and she'd seem like a spineless idiot who couldn't back up her side of the argument if she wanted to.

"Why do you always have to ruin everything?" she shouted, hands balled into fists at her side, angrier than she could ever remember being.

Angrier even than the time she'd killed that poor idiot with a hoe. Because _this_ time, she knew she couldn't hurt Vicente. She couldn't do anything. She loved him, for Sithis' sake, and he'd gone and broken her like this and it wasn't bloody fair that he could just _look_ at her like that and expect her to come falling back into his arms.

Even if she wanted that more than anything.

Furious with herself and Vicente both, she fled the room before she could break down in tears in front of him and make a complete ass of herself.

"May, wait!" he called, relinquishing his position to a half-visible Antoinetta Marie, before running after her.

She was faster than he'd realized and they were halfway to the ladder before he caught up to her, catching her wrist.

"Please," he said, voice soft, pulling her back. "Don't go."

Rounding on him then, she punched him as hard as she could. It was the shock of actually being struck, more than the pain that made him let go. And once May had started, there was no stopping her. She broke; sobbing so hard her whole body shook as she blow after blow shattered into his chest.

"I hate you, you fetcher," she choked between sobs. "You _liar_!" and then, when she couldn't find the words to voice just how utterly _betrayed_ she felt. "You said you loved me!"

"I do," he said softly, reaching up to sweep her hair away from her face, but making no move to stop the blows raining over his chest. "I'm sorry. I misunderstood."

"Misunderstood _what_, you ass?" she shouted, hitting him that much harder. "That I was stupid enough to _care _about you? That I was naïve enough to want to make you bloody _happy_?" the blows were subsiding now. "I tried to cheer you up, you fetcher and you threw me out on my ass! I hate you." And here they stopped and she curled into him, sobbing so hard he could barely make out her manta of, "I hate you. I bloody well _hate_ you."

Vicente wrapped his arms around her and pulled her as close as he could, ignoring the ache in his chest for the flowery scent of her hair.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the nape of her neck as he rocked. "I love you."

Abruptly, Arquen stopped screaming. Her shield had worn off, apparently.

"Ass," she spat, and hiccupped, wanting to tear his clothes just to ruin them.

Vicente smiled softly, wanting to kiss her but afraid she'd bite him in the mood she was in.

"Forgive me?"

"No," it was mostly muffled as she was, apparently, trying to smother herself into his shirt. "I don't even want to _look_ at you. You're a selfish, childish ass and the sound of your voice make me _sick_."

Lucien and Sam trekked out of the room then, carrying Arquen between them like a plank of wood dressed in men's clothing. Her hair had been hacked off close to the scalp and it almost looked as though she had stubble. As they passed, Lucien nodded, but Sam glared at him, managing to convey a wide array of threats with very little motion.

"Sweetheart?"

A short distance off, the well cap clanged open… and then shut.

"Shut up," May sniffled and hiccupped again, pulling away to wipe at her eyes. "I don't want to talk to you."

"I'm serious," he said, taking her chin then so she'd look him in the eyes. "I _love_ you."

"You're a fat, old liar and I want to be left alone," she announced and turned for the kitchens.

Vicente watched her go, feeling like a complete and total idiot who had just ruined the most important thing in his life.

* * *

"Escaped prisoner," Lucien grunted, nodding towards the guards as they carried the unfortunate woman through the gates. "Lex told us t' bring 'im back hell or high water. Put up a hell of a fight." 

One of the guards frowned.

"Who's this then?"

Lucien shrugged.

"No idea, really. Cap'n gave me a wanted poster, sent me on m' way. Probably his latest Gray Fox, I'll bet. Not sure how we're gonna get t' the Imperial City 'fore this spell wears off. Bloody hell."

The guard was apparently satisfied as he moved back to let them pass with a shrug and a sad chuckle.

"Poor bloke's losing his mind. Can't blame him for trying though. I hear he 'bout runs the entire legion up there. Everyone else only worrying about their purses."

Lucien shrugged again and nodded.

"'s true. Money-hungry fetchers, the lot of 'em. Caerien, help me get 'im up on the horse, 'ey?"

Sam nodded and kept silent, knowing his voice was a dead give away and trying hard not to laugh at Lucien's new accent.

"You are a genius," he whispered once they were riding away and safely out of earshot.

Lucien grinned, smug as all hell.

"I know."

* * *

May curled up in the corner of the kitchen, picking Sam's new book up from where he'd left it on the floor. 

"Boethiah's Pillow Book," she murmured to herself, reading the title. It was a wonderful book, she decided. The cover was worn and properly soft, the spine flexible and well loved. Someone had thoroughly enjoyed this book. Smiling to herself, she opened it.

And blinked… and then began to laugh, realizing exactly why it was so well loved.

"_That one's new_," Antoinetta said, leaning through the wall and over her shoulder to see the picture. "_I'm not sure Vicente bends that way though."_

"Do you think Eldamil could do it?"

Antoinetta laughed.

"_Oh, yes. Eldamil _definitely_ bends that way."_

"Well then, I simply cannot allow Vicente to be outdone by some blond, too-flexible freak," she said, feeling better than she had all day. "We shall have to try it at once."

Vicente looked up from his book as May entered the room, a _very _mischievous light in her eyes.

"Sweetheart?" he asked, wondering exactly what it was he was going to have to do to be properly forgiven.

May said nothing, only opened the book to the appropriate page and _smiled_.

"Oh, _Sithis_," Vicente said, laughing. "I didn't realize that was even possible."

That smile grew a little bigger and Vicente shook his head, still laughing.

"You can't be serious, May."

And then she gave him _the look_.

There was no fighting _the look_.

Vicente sighed, and chuckling to himself, rose to lock the door.

* * *

It was noon when they reached the Old Home, and Lucien was immensely pleased with Sam's paralysis spell, and mentioned as much as he heaved a struggling, screaming Arquen from the back of his horse. The spell had been timed perfectly, lasting just until they thundered onto his mother's land. And by this time, all her screaming would have gotten the ogre very, _very_ excited. 

"Help me carry her?" he asked, breaking an arm when she tried to punch him.

"Does your ogre particularly like men?" Sam asked, paralyzing her from the knees down to better carry her.

"Ah, yes." Lucien grinned. "Brilliant that you mentioned it. Cut her loose, would you."

Sam pretended to gag as he sliced his dagger down the front of her shirt, slicing through the fabric of the semi-corset and into the skin beneath. Arquen screamed again, this a litany of threats and louder than before, all the while trying to bite Lucien as he held her.

"What in the hell is going on out there?" Veronique shouted, stepping from the door to the house.

"Just dealing with a traitor, ma'am!" Sam called back, picking up Arquen's feet as they crab walked towards rock where the ogre was frantically straining against its chain.

From the little porch, Veronique laughed.

"Mother, Lucien's brought his lover," she called inside. "He's charming. But they're feeding that traitor of theirs to Sangre, and he only just got over his stomach ache."

"Might do him good to have human again, actually," the widow Lachance said, rising to her feet and coming outside to watch the slaughter.

They swung Arquen between them in tandem, laughing as on three she arched through the air.

"Stand back!" Lucien said, grinning as he pulled Sam a safe distance back. "Last time it took us weeks to get the blood from our boots."

It was odd, standing there watching the woman get alternately ravaged and devoured by the giant beast and yet feeling like there was no where else in the world he'd rather be. Because Lucien was standing with his arm draped very comfortably over his shoulder, happier than he'd ever seen him. The guild was intact, the traitor dying in an appropriate bloodbath and Sam had a life, a lover, _a_ _family_.

Lucien leaned down, smirking as that wicked tongue crept out, winding over the oh-so-sensitive tip of his ear.

"Welcome home, Sam."

_Welcome home._

And for the first time in his sixty odd years, Samwane felt _whole_.

END


End file.
